From ae3da7c9f006cfc294baa6c6a873268afec7de57 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: zeefaad Date: Tue, 30 Sep 2025 09:32:08 +0200 Subject: [PATCH] Add files.h and optimisation of QAM --- .gitignore | 3 + QAM/out | Bin 20584 -> 0 bytes QAM/qam | Bin 0 -> 21080 bytes QAM/qam.c | 86 +- QAM/sin.txt | 47507 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++-- files/files.c | 104 + files/files.h | 21 + 7 files changed, 46548 insertions(+), 1173 deletions(-) delete mode 100755 QAM/out create mode 100755 QAM/qam create mode 100644 files/files.c create mode 100644 files/files.h diff --git a/.gitignore b/.gitignore index d8dd753..0d9e74c 100644 --- a/.gitignore +++ b/.gitignore @@ -1 +1,4 @@ *.wav +*.txt +*.png +*.jpg diff --git a/QAM/out b/QAM/out deleted file mode 100755 index b528595f5bf48d08f54571e7467e55ebe504990e..0000000000000000000000000000000000000000 GIT binary patch literal 0 HcmV?d00001 literal 20584 zcmeHP3v^WFoxhWZ#s}QNf&~>BU9dr63J9z$MTWY)=*Cs5W6=-Q~PMjPskphUD9@iF`ReUHhVNygK2 z_MAOu_so}b@BjNhzyJ6D-Zyja_pFu63S2Hjr$XaKgV>BQlHya0gsn0FKH~;sH11a# z6OHqL7YUl=`y>EYCU;>bEKzilsrQ)TXTvL$oQB#%Lh9v80~bh+hK5_>)GKCI;n{Hd zI4P&0=BLY>A^AoYOcY4EhE6@kCbmHGV`Z7JN9pw{sP%|auSer?U1hE+;WLtWlCpvQRru}OE2)vCN)?dMbNrlD#U5fi$|zP9|P3ZtOah|w3# zcNs2$t8Qu(C|vU?I~Et4gZkI_e)yFeuRk#UybV=XRIhws`MFayAAYs2cEjA+U#+W} zURT@DvU&RE8|F@*JKNjb=$$3Xp)G9>**_|UAa%(Ik`+1VTXWFw%R#3<9$eXJ83-el zyD10#S2^f`9Q0TY`oHC%PXyhAD?3F&7|GA)bI{v!(EmIK{k9zRcn zSQ*^hWK;$=G#ky|4TX)m#@lBZO~Fv8F$5b>ue`%wS#yWKI#63@REL5=-U3xdQ%ktA zCJ-{J8=Ha+Mtz{JuCWpd=-!p8(E31a11Oc71ODpThCp5IUC<2&>tLp`uCY02G=*v# z!qrCgrciAdtma_w4g>o291U}stCYFrD_1OD;-BT6<(*@s^YhZ#+3DQ%vk{a6jK2bm zWf#VA0shVtcbB*qD4OJv_98SmZ*bhVTvm&rU2G&2E%L+rG5r)89{^`^A^#d6<(bCT z){f$gpF*Cr$Ao;5ae+(X(q4hEM|r)D=y}nj8oOJq6Pn(m*6;1Bs5La-Ydm(dq;qc6 zb0sO=4!T$`rI^vll$Y!$H?`GU+!s=ogZplFvcEND~2V2OSNXPOBXB(P^q-tZ~py z2YtPR?sm{?9CX#Rg4^VvJIDQI2c7FlKIJ2jk3c>G`3U4A;Ecfg=9TB{w$mkcw76>_ zma+C&xFFSIw>?vGNQkB89055sKjcpPk_<@yS{ZNWJ{NU$R(!=vozg8M;FjZ1)(s6^$SE8Yo$>)VHh z{DmJrqk0IZz2xnXt$>YN&{Jyc$ksh})Y=m@s?9U~XU%K-s%`Ub-Wp#?Zyn7zmD>MOJ(@k9macH|)S?8vIpxV4X!KIPRyMRv3TR#%rs%l6rohwZL63hj<7 zE~M&ZLbb5X+UJT|`{rAZZ8;)~Z%eq~K@1+?a*z7@M8i01uIr*VG3m`hs0!4MSlw~! z5tf-OLSNm_{(2pJta!wA+|@H=W{kBTws;$3De@SrH*R$bRUSTvR6Da(>4t^d7z>R; 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typedef struct qam_system_s qam_system; +// Initialisation de la constellation (double tableau de taille sqrt(M)), +// ToDo : changer à un tableau à 1 dimension pour éviter de calculer sqrt(M) void init_constellation (qam_system* qam) { int sm = (int)sqrt(qam->M); qam->constellation = (double complex**)malloc(sizeof(double complex*) * sm); @@ -37,7 +42,7 @@ void init_constellation (qam_system* qam) { } // Changer le tableau de bits en boolen ou alors la represenation binaire et shifter pour extraire les bits (pas bien si M plus grand) -void bits_to_symbols (qam_system* qam, int* bits, int nb_bits, double complex* symbols) { +void bits_to_symbols (qam_system* qam, uint8_t* bits, int nb_bits, double complex* symbols) { int nb_symbols = nb_bits / qam->k; int sm = sqrt(qam->M); for (int k = 0; k < nb_symbols; k++) { @@ -51,7 +56,8 @@ void bits_to_symbols (qam_system* qam, int* bits, int nb_bits, double complex* s } } -void modulate (qam_system* qam,double complex* symbols, int nb_symbols, double complex* s) { +// Modulation qam +void modulate (qam_system* qam, double complex* symbols, int nb_symbols, double complex* s) { for (int k = 0; k < nb_symbols; k++) { double complex iq = symbols[k]; for (int n = 0; n < qam->N; n++) { @@ -60,7 +66,8 @@ void modulate (qam_system* qam,double complex* symbols, int nb_symbols, double c } } -void demodulate(qam_system* qam, double complex* s, int nb_symbols, int* bits_hat, double sigma) { +// Demodulation qam +void demodulate(qam_system* qam, double complex* s, int nb_symbols, uint8_t* bits_hat, double sigma) { for (int k = 0; k < nb_symbols; k++) { double complex r = 0; for (int n = 0; n < qam->N; n++) { @@ -69,7 +76,9 @@ void demodulate(qam_system* qam, double complex* s, int nb_symbols, int* bits_ha r /= qam->N; // Distance euclidien de Ir et Qr pour avoir le point le plus proche de la constellation + int sm = (int)sqrt(qam->M); + /* TEMPS INFINI double min_d = INFINITY; int i_cl, j_cl = 0; for (int i = 0; i < sm; i++) { @@ -82,14 +91,27 @@ void demodulate(qam_system* qam, double complex* s, int nb_symbols, int* bits_ha } } } + */ + double norm_factor = sqrt((double)(qam->M - 1) / 3.0); + double Ir = creal(r) * norm_factor / A; + double Qr = cimag(r) * norm_factor / A; - int id = i_cl * sm + j_cl; + int i = (int)round((Ir + (sm - 1)) / 2.0); + int j = (int)round((Qr + (sm - 1)) / 2.0); + + i = (i < 0) ? 0 : ((i >= sm) ? sm - 1 : i); + j = (j < 0) ? 0 : ((j >= sm) ? sm - 1 : j); + + int id = i * sm + j; + + //int id = i_cl * sm + j_cl; for (int b = 0; b < qam->k; b++) { bits_hat[k * qam->k + (qam->k - 1 - b)] = (id >> b) & 1; } } } +// Libération de la mémoire void free_constellation(qam_system *qam) { int sm = (int)sqrt(qam->M); for (int i = 0; i < sm; i++) @@ -97,7 +119,12 @@ void free_constellation(qam_system *qam) { free(qam->constellation); } -int main () { +int main (int argc, char *argv[]) { + if (argc < 2) { + fprintf(stderr, "Utilisation: %s \n", argv[0]); + return 1; + } + qam_system qam; qam.M = 256; qam.k = (int)log2((double)(qam.M)); @@ -108,40 +135,55 @@ int main () { init_constellation(&qam); // Nombre de bit multiple de k sinon remplir de zero jusqu'a ce que ce le soit - int bits[16] = {1,0,1,1, 0,1,1,0, 1,1,0,0, 0,0,0,1}; - int nb_bits = 16; - int nb_symbols = 16 / qam.k; + //int bits[16] = {1,0,1,1, 0,1,1,0, 1,1,0,0, 0,0,0,1}; + //int nb_bits = 16; + //int nb_symbols = 16 / qam.k; + printf("Lecture du fichier\n"); + // Lecture du fichier et conversion en bits + const char *input_filename = argv[1]; + bit_array input_bits = file_to_bits(input_filename); + size_t nb_symbols = input_bits.nb_bits / qam.k; - double complex symbols[nb_symbols]; - bits_to_symbols(&qam, bits, nb_bits, symbols); + printf("Mise en forme des symboles\n"); + // Mise en forme des symboles + double complex *symbols = malloc(sizeof(double complex) * nb_symbols); + bits_to_symbols(&qam, input_bits.bits, input_bits.nb_bits, symbols); + printf("Modulation\n"); + // Modulation QAM int total_samples = qam.N * nb_symbols; double complex* s = (double complex*)malloc(sizeof(double complex) * total_samples); modulate(&qam, symbols, nb_symbols, s); - int bits_hat[nb_bits]; - demodulate(&qam, s, nb_symbols, bits_hat, 0.0); + printf("Demodulation\n"); - for (int i = 0; i < nb_bits; i++) - printf("%d", bits[i]); - printf("\n"); + // Demodulation QAM + bit_array output_bits; + output_bits.nb_bits = input_bits.nb_bits; + output_bits.bits = (uint8_t*)malloc(output_bits.nb_bits); + demodulate(&qam, s, nb_symbols, output_bits.bits, 0.0); - for (int i = 0; i < nb_bits; i++) - printf("%d", bits_hat[i]); - printf("\n"); + printf("Ecriture...\n"); + // Ecriture du fichier de Demodulation + char *output_filename = make_output_filename(input_filename); + bits_to_file(output_filename, &output_bits); + + // Affichage du signal dans un .wav double* si = (double*)malloc(sizeof(double) * total_samples); - for (int i = 0; i < total_samples; i++) { si[i] = cimag(s[i]); } - write_wav("s.wav", si, total_samples); - free_constellation(&qam); + // Libération mémoire + free_bit_array(&input_bits); + free_bit_array(&output_bits); + free(symbols); free(s); - free(si); + free_constellation(&qam); + free(output_filename); return 0; } diff --git a/QAM/sin.txt b/QAM/sin.txt index c888b48..002efe0 100644 --- a/QAM/sin.txt +++ b/QAM/sin.txt @@ -1,1204 +1,46409 @@ - LETTER XLVI +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare + +This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online +at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, +you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located +before using this eBook. + +Title: The Complete Works of William Shakespeare + +Author: William Shakespeare + +Release date: January 1, 1994 [eBook #100] + Most recently updated: August 24, 2025 + +Language: English + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE *** + + + + +The Complete Works of William Shakespeare + +by William Shakespeare + + + + + Contents + + THE SONNETS + ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL + THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA + AS YOU LIKE IT + THE COMEDY OF ERRORS + THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS + CYMBELINE + THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK + THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + THE LIFE OF KING HENRY THE FIFTH + THE FIRST PART OF HENRY THE SIXTH + THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + THE THIRD PART OF KING HENRY THE SIXTH + KING HENRY THE EIGHTH + THE LIFE AND DEATH OF KING JOHN + THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR + THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR + LOVE’S LABOUR’S LOST + THE TRAGEDY OF MACBETH + MEASURE FOR MEASURE + THE MERCHANT OF VENICE + THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR + A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM + MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING + THE TRAGEDY OF OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE + PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE + KING RICHARD THE SECOND + KING RICHARD THE THIRD + THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET + THE TAMING OF THE SHREW + THE TEMPEST + THE LIFE OF TIMON OF ATHENS + THE TRAGEDY OF TITUS ANDRONICUS + TROILUS AND CRESSIDA + TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL + THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA + THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN + THE WINTER’S TALE + A LOVER’S COMPLAINT + THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM + THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE + THE RAPE OF LUCRECE + VENUS AND ADONIS + + + + +THE SONNETS + + 1 + +From fairest creatures we desire increase, +That thereby beauty’s rose might never die, +But as the riper should by time decease, +His tender heir might bear his memory: +But thou contracted to thine own bright eyes, +Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel, +Making a famine where abundance lies, +Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel: +Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament, +And only herald to the gaudy spring, +Within thine own bud buriest thy content, +And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding: + Pity the world, or else this glutton be, + To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee. + + + 2 + +When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, +And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, +Thy youth’s proud livery so gazed on now, +Will be a tattered weed of small worth held: +Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies, +Where all the treasure of thy lusty days; +To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes, +Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise. +How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use, +If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine +Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’ +Proving his beauty by succession thine. + This were to be new made when thou art old, + And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold. + + + 3 + +Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest, +Now is the time that face should form another, +Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest, +Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother. +For where is she so fair whose uneared womb +Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry? +Or who is he so fond will be the tomb +Of his self-love to stop posterity? +Thou art thy mother’s glass and she in thee +Calls back the lovely April of her prime, +So thou through windows of thine age shalt see, +Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time. + But if thou live remembered not to be, + Die single and thine image dies with thee. + + + 4 + +Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend, +Upon thyself thy beauty’s legacy? +Nature’s bequest gives nothing but doth lend, +And being frank she lends to those are free: +Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, +The bounteous largess given thee to give? +Profitless usurer why dost thou use +So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? +For having traffic with thyself alone, +Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive, +Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, +What acceptable audit canst thou leave? + Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, + Which used lives th’ executor to be. + + + 5 + +Those hours that with gentle work did frame +The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell +Will play the tyrants to the very same, +And that unfair which fairly doth excel: +For never-resting time leads summer on +To hideous winter and confounds him there, +Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, +Beauty o’er-snowed and bareness every where: +Then were not summer’s distillation left +A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass, +Beauty’s effect with beauty were bereft, +Nor it nor no remembrance what it was. + But flowers distilled though they with winter meet, + Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet. + + + 6 + +Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface, +In thee thy summer ere thou be distilled: +Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place, +With beauty’s treasure ere it be self-killed: +That use is not forbidden usury, +Which happies those that pay the willing loan; +That’s for thyself to breed another thee, +Or ten times happier be it ten for one, +Ten times thyself were happier than thou art, +If ten of thine ten times refigured thee: +Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart, +Leaving thee living in posterity? + Be not self-willed for thou art much too fair, + To be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir. + + + 7 + +Lo in the orient when the gracious light +Lifts up his burning head, each under eye +Doth homage to his new-appearing sight, +Serving with looks his sacred majesty, +And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill, +Resembling strong youth in his middle age, +Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still, +Attending on his golden pilgrimage: +But when from highmost pitch with weary car, +Like feeble age he reeleth from the day, +The eyes (fore duteous) now converted are +From his low tract and look another way: + So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon: + Unlooked on diest unless thou get a son. + + + 8 + +Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly? +Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: +Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly, +Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy? +If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, +By unions married do offend thine ear, +They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds +In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear: +Mark how one string sweet husband to another, +Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; +Resembling sire, and child, and happy mother, +Who all in one, one pleasing note do sing: + Whose speechless song being many, seeming one, + Sings this to thee, ‘Thou single wilt prove none’. + + + 9 + +Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye, +That thou consum’st thyself in single life? +Ah, if thou issueless shalt hap to die, +The world will wail thee like a makeless wife, +The world will be thy widow and still weep, +That thou no form of thee hast left behind, +When every private widow well may keep, +By children’s eyes, her husband’s shape in mind: +Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend +Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it; +But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end, +And kept unused the user so destroys it: + No love toward others in that bosom sits + That on himself such murd’rous shame commits. + + + 10 + +For shame deny that thou bear’st love to any +Who for thyself art so unprovident. +Grant if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, +But that thou none lov’st is most evident: +For thou art so possessed with murd’rous hate, +That ’gainst thyself thou stick’st not to conspire, +Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate +Which to repair should be thy chief desire: +O change thy thought, that I may change my mind, +Shall hate be fairer lodged than gentle love? +Be as thy presence is gracious and kind, +Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove, + Make thee another self for love of me, + That beauty still may live in thine or thee. + + + 11 + +As fast as thou shalt wane so fast thou grow’st, +In one of thine, from that which thou departest, +And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow’st, +Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth convertest, +Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase, +Without this folly, age, and cold decay, +If all were minded so, the times should cease, +And threescore year would make the world away: +Let those whom nature hath not made for store, +Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish: +Look whom she best endowed, she gave thee more; +Which bounteous gift thou shouldst in bounty cherish: + She carved thee for her seal, and meant thereby, + Thou shouldst print more, not let that copy die. + + + 12 + +When I do count the clock that tells the time, +And see the brave day sunk in hideous night, +When I behold the violet past prime, +And sable curls all silvered o’er with white: +When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, +Which erst from heat did canopy the herd +And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves +Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard: +Then of thy beauty do I question make +That thou among the wastes of time must go, +Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, +And die as fast as they see others grow, + And nothing ’gainst Time’s scythe can make defence + Save breed to brave him, when he takes thee hence. + + + 13 + +O that you were your self, but love you are +No longer yours, than you yourself here live, +Against this coming end you should prepare, +And your sweet semblance to some other give. +So should that beauty which you hold in lease +Find no determination, then you were +Yourself again after yourself’s decease, +When your sweet issue your sweet form should bear. +Who lets so fair a house fall to decay, +Which husbandry in honour might uphold, +Against the stormy gusts of winter’s day +And barren rage of death’s eternal cold? + O none but unthrifts, dear my love you know, + You had a father, let your son say so. + + + 14 + +Not from the stars do I my judgement pluck, +And yet methinks I have astronomy, +But not to tell of good, or evil luck, +Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons’ quality, +Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell; +Pointing to each his thunder, rain and wind, +Or say with princes if it shall go well +By oft predict that I in heaven find. +But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive, +And constant stars in them I read such art +As truth and beauty shall together thrive +If from thyself, to store thou wouldst convert: + Or else of thee this I prognosticate, + Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date. + + + 15 + +When I consider everything that grows +Holds in perfection but a little moment. +That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows +Whereon the stars in secret influence comment. +When I perceive that men as plants increase, +Cheered and checked even by the self-same sky: +Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease, +And wear their brave state out of memory. +Then the conceit of this inconstant stay, +Sets you most rich in youth before my sight, +Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay +To change your day of youth to sullied night, + And all in war with Time for love of you, + As he takes from you, I engraft you new. + + + 16 + +But wherefore do not you a mightier way +Make war upon this bloody tyrant Time? +And fortify yourself in your decay +With means more blessed than my barren rhyme? +Now stand you on the top of happy hours, +And many maiden gardens yet unset, +With virtuous wish would bear you living flowers, +Much liker than your painted counterfeit: +So should the lines of life that life repair +Which this (Time’s pencil) or my pupil pen +Neither in inward worth nor outward fair +Can make you live yourself in eyes of men. + To give away yourself, keeps yourself still, + And you must live drawn by your own sweet skill. + + + 17 + +Who will believe my verse in time to come +If it were filled with your most high deserts? +Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb +Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts: +If I could write the beauty of your eyes, +And in fresh numbers number all your graces, +The age to come would say this poet lies, +Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces. +So should my papers (yellowed with their age) +Be scorned, like old men of less truth than tongue, +And your true rights be termed a poet’s rage, +And stretched metre of an antique song. + But were some child of yours alive that time, + You should live twice,—in it, and in my rhyme. + + + 18 + +Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? +Thou art more lovely and more temperate: +Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, +And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: +Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, +And often is his gold complexion dimmed, +And every fair from fair sometime declines, +By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed: +But thy eternal summer shall not fade, +Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st, +Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade, +When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st, + So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, + So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. + + + 19 + +Devouring Time blunt thou the lion’s paws, +And make the earth devour her own sweet brood, +Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws, +And burn the long-lived phoenix, in her blood, +Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleet’st, +And do whate’er thou wilt swift-footed Time +To the wide world and all her fading sweets: +But I forbid thee one most heinous crime, +O carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow, +Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen, +Him in thy course untainted do allow, +For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men. + Yet do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, + My love shall in my verse ever live young. + + + 20 + +A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted, +Hast thou the master mistress of my passion, +A woman’s gentle heart but not acquainted +With shifting change as is false women’s fashion, +An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling: +Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth, +A man in hue all hues in his controlling, +Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth. +And for a woman wert thou first created, +Till nature as she wrought thee fell a-doting, +And by addition me of thee defeated, +By adding one thing to my purpose nothing. + But since she pricked thee out for women’s pleasure, + Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure. + + + 21 + +So is it not with me as with that muse, +Stirred by a painted beauty to his verse, +Who heaven it self for ornament doth use, +And every fair with his fair doth rehearse, +Making a couplement of proud compare +With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems: +With April’s first-born flowers and all things rare, +That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems. +O let me true in love but truly write, +And then believe me, my love is as fair, +As any mother’s child, though not so bright +As those gold candles fixed in heaven’s air: + Let them say more that like of hearsay well, + I will not praise that purpose not to sell. + + + 22 + +My glass shall not persuade me I am old, +So long as youth and thou are of one date, +But when in thee time’s furrows I behold, +Then look I death my days should expiate. +For all that beauty that doth cover thee, +Is but the seemly raiment of my heart, +Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me, +How can I then be elder than thou art? +O therefore love be of thyself so wary, +As I not for my self, but for thee will, +Bearing thy heart which I will keep so chary +As tender nurse her babe from faring ill. + Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain, + Thou gav’st me thine not to give back again. + + + 23 + +As an unperfect actor on the stage, +Who with his fear is put beside his part, +Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, +Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart; +So I for fear of trust, forget to say, +The perfect ceremony of love’s rite, +And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay, +O’ercharged with burthen of mine own love’s might: +O let my looks be then the eloquence, +And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, +Who plead for love, and look for recompense, +More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. + O learn to read what silent love hath writ, + To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit. + + + 24 + +Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled, +Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart, +My body is the frame wherein ’tis held, +And perspective it is best painter’s art. +For through the painter must you see his skill, +To find where your true image pictured lies, +Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still, +That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes: +Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done, +Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me +Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun +Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee; + Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art, + They draw but what they see, know not the heart. + + + 25 + +Let those who are in favour with their stars, +Of public honour and proud titles boast, +Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars +Unlooked for joy in that I honour most; +Great princes’ favourites their fair leaves spread, +But as the marigold at the sun’s eye, +And in themselves their pride lies buried, +For at a frown they in their glory die. +The painful warrior famoused for fight, +After a thousand victories once foiled, +Is from the book of honour razed quite, +And all the rest forgot for which he toiled: + Then happy I that love and am beloved + Where I may not remove nor be removed. + + + 26 + +Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage +Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit; +To thee I send this written embassage +To witness duty, not to show my wit. +Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine +May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it; +But that I hope some good conceit of thine +In thy soul’s thought (all naked) will bestow it: +Till whatsoever star that guides my moving, +Points on me graciously with fair aspect, +And puts apparel on my tattered loving, +To show me worthy of thy sweet respect, + Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee, + Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me. + + + 27 + +Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, +The dear respose for limbs with travel tired, +But then begins a journey in my head +To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired. +For then my thoughts, from far where I abide, +Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee, +And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, +Looking on darkness which the blind do see. +Save that my soul’s imaginary sight +Presents thy shadow to my sightless view, +Which like a jewel (hung in ghastly night) +Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new. + Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind, + For thee, and for my self, no quiet find. + + + 28 + +How can I then return in happy plight +That am debarred the benefit of rest? +When day’s oppression is not eased by night, +But day by night and night by day oppressed. +And each (though enemies to either’s reign) +Do in consent shake hands to torture me, +The one by toil, the other to complain +How far I toil, still farther off from thee. +I tell the day to please him thou art bright, +And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven: +So flatter I the swart-complexioned night, +When sparkling stars twire not thou gild’st the even. + But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer, + And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger + + + 29 + +When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes, +I all alone beweep my outcast state, +And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, +And look upon my self and curse my fate, +Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, +Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, +Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope, +With what I most enjoy contented least, +Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising, +Haply I think on thee, and then my state, +(Like to the lark at break of day arising +From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate, + For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, + That then I scorn to change my state with kings. + + + 30 + +When to the sessions of sweet silent thought, +I summon up remembrance of things past, +I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, +And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste: +Then can I drown an eye (unused to flow) +For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night, +And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe, +And moan th’ expense of many a vanished sight. +Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, +And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er +The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, +Which I new pay as if not paid before. + But if the while I think on thee (dear friend) + All losses are restored, and sorrows end. + + + 31 + +Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, +Which I by lacking have supposed dead, +And there reigns love and all love’s loving parts, +And all those friends which I thought buried. +How many a holy and obsequious tear +Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye, +As interest of the dead, which now appear, +But things removed that hidden in thee lie. +Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, +Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, +Who all their parts of me to thee did give, +That due of many, now is thine alone. + Their images I loved, I view in thee, + And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. + + + 32 + +If thou survive my well-contented day, +When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover +And shalt by fortune once more re-survey +These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover: +Compare them with the bett’ring of the time, +And though they be outstripped by every pen, +Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, +Exceeded by the height of happier men. +O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought, +’Had my friend’s Muse grown with this growing age, +A dearer birth than this his love had brought +To march in ranks of better equipage: + But since he died and poets better prove, + Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love’. + + + 33 + +Full many a glorious morning have I seen, +Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, +Kissing with golden face the meadows green; +Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy: +Anon permit the basest clouds to ride, +With ugly rack on his celestial face, +And from the forlorn world his visage hide +Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: +Even so my sun one early morn did shine, +With all triumphant splendour on my brow, +But out alack, he was but one hour mine, +The region cloud hath masked him from me now. + Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth, + Suns of the world may stain, when heaven’s sun staineth. + + + 34 + +Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, +And make me travel forth without my cloak, +To let base clouds o’ertake me in my way, +Hiding thy brav’ry in their rotten smoke? +’Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break, +To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, +For no man well of such a salve can speak, +That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace: +Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief, +Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss, +Th’ offender’s sorrow lends but weak relief +To him that bears the strong offence’s cross. + Ah but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, + And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds. + + + 35 + +No more be grieved at that which thou hast done, +Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud, +Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, +And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. +All men make faults, and even I in this, +Authorizing thy trespass with compare, +My self corrupting salving thy amiss, +Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are: +For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense; +Thy adverse party is thy advocate, +And ’gainst my self a lawful plea commence: +Such civil war is in my love and hate, + That I an accessary needs must be, + To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me. + + + 36 + +Let me confess that we two must be twain, +Although our undivided loves are one: +So shall those blots that do with me remain, +Without thy help, by me be borne alone. +In our two loves there is but one respect, +Though in our lives a separable spite, +Which though it alter not love’s sole effect, +Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight. +I may not evermore acknowledge thee, +Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, +Nor thou with public kindness honour me, +Unless thou take that honour from thy name: + But do not so, I love thee in such sort, + As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. + + + 37 + +As a decrepit father takes delight, +To see his active child do deeds of youth, +So I, made lame by Fortune’s dearest spite +Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth. +For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit, +Or any of these all, or all, or more +Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit, +I make my love engrafted to this store: +So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised, +Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give, +That I in thy abundance am sufficed, +And by a part of all thy glory live: + Look what is best, that best I wish in thee, + This wish I have, then ten times happy me. + + + 38 + +How can my Muse want subject to invent +While thou dost breathe that pour’st into my verse, +Thine own sweet argument, too excellent, +For every vulgar paper to rehearse? +O give thyself the thanks if aught in me, +Worthy perusal stand against thy sight, +For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee, +When thou thyself dost give invention light? +Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth +Than those old nine which rhymers invocate, +And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth +Eternal numbers to outlive long date. + If my slight Muse do please these curious days, + The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise. + + + 39 + +O how thy worth with manners may I sing, +When thou art all the better part of me? +What can mine own praise to mine own self bring: +And what is’t but mine own when I praise thee? +Even for this, let us divided live, +And our dear love lose name of single one, +That by this separation I may give: +That due to thee which thou deserv’st alone: +O absence what a torment wouldst thou prove, +Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave, +To entertain the time with thoughts of love, +Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive. + And that thou teachest how to make one twain, + By praising him here who doth hence remain. + + + 40 + +Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all, +What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? +No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, +All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more: +Then if for my love, thou my love receivest, +I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest, +But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest +By wilful taste of what thyself refusest. +I do forgive thy robbery gentle thief +Although thou steal thee all my poverty: +And yet love knows it is a greater grief +To bear greater wrong, than hate’s known injury. + Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, + Kill me with spites yet we must not be foes. + + + 41 + +Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits, +When I am sometime absent from thy heart, +Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits, +For still temptation follows where thou art. +Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won, +Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed. +And when a woman woos, what woman’s son, +Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed? +Ay me, but yet thou mightst my seat forbear, +And chide thy beauty, and thy straying youth, +Who lead thee in their riot even there +Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth: + Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee, + Thine by thy beauty being false to me. + + + 42 + +That thou hast her it is not all my grief, +And yet it may be said I loved her dearly, +That she hath thee is of my wailing chief, +A loss in love that touches me more nearly. +Loving offenders thus I will excuse ye, +Thou dost love her, because thou know’st I love her, +And for my sake even so doth she abuse me, +Suff’ring my friend for my sake to approve her. +If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain, +And losing her, my friend hath found that loss, +Both find each other, and I lose both twain, +And both for my sake lay on me this cross, + But here’s the joy, my friend and I are one, + Sweet flattery, then she loves but me alone. + + + 43 + +When most I wink then do mine eyes best see, +For all the day they view things unrespected, +But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee, +And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. +Then thou whose shadow shadows doth make bright +How would thy shadow’s form, form happy show, +To the clear day with thy much clearer light, +When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so! +How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made, +By looking on thee in the living day, +When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade, +Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay! + All days are nights to see till I see thee, + And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me. + + + 44 + +If the dull substance of my flesh were thought, +Injurious distance should not stop my way, +For then despite of space I would be brought, +From limits far remote, where thou dost stay, +No matter then although my foot did stand +Upon the farthest earth removed from thee, +For nimble thought can jump both sea and land, +As soon as think the place where he would be. +But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought +To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone, +But that so much of earth and water wrought, +I must attend, time’s leisure with my moan. + Receiving nought by elements so slow, + But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe. + + + 45 + +The other two, slight air, and purging fire, +Are both with thee, wherever I abide, +The first my thought, the other my desire, +These present-absent with swift motion slide. +For when these quicker elements are gone +In tender embassy of love to thee, +My life being made of four, with two alone, +Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy. +Until life’s composition be recured, +By those swift messengers returned from thee, +Who even but now come back again assured, +Of thy fair health, recounting it to me. + This told, I joy, but then no longer glad, + I send them back again and straight grow sad. + + + 46 + +Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war, +How to divide the conquest of thy sight, +Mine eye, my heart thy picture’s sight would bar, +My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right, +My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie, +A closet never pierced with crystal eyes; +But the defendant doth that plea deny, +And says in him thy fair appearance lies. +To side this title is impanelled +A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart, +And by their verdict is determined +The clear eye’s moiety, and the dear heart’s part. + As thus, mine eye’s due is thy outward part, + And my heart’s right, thy inward love of heart. + + + 47 + +Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took, +And each doth good turns now unto the other, +When that mine eye is famished for a look, +Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother; +With my love’s picture then my eye doth feast, +And to the painted banquet bids my heart: +Another time mine eye is my heart’s guest, +And in his thoughts of love doth share a part. +So either by thy picture or my love, +Thyself away, art present still with me, +For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move, +And I am still with them, and they with thee. + Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight + Awakes my heart, to heart’s and eye’s delight. + + + 48 + +How careful was I when I took my way, +Each trifle under truest bars to thrust, +That to my use it might unused stay +From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust! +But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, +Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief, +Thou best of dearest, and mine only care, +Art left the prey of every vulgar thief. +Thee have I not locked up in any chest, +Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art, +Within the gentle closure of my breast, +From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part, + And even thence thou wilt be stol’n I fear, + For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. + + + 49 + +Against that time (if ever that time come) +When I shall see thee frown on my defects, +When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, +Called to that audit by advised respects, +Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, +And scarcely greet me with that sun thine eye, +When love converted from the thing it was +Shall reasons find of settled gravity; +Against that time do I ensconce me here +Within the knowledge of mine own desert, +And this my hand, against my self uprear, +To guard the lawful reasons on thy part, + To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws, + Since why to love, I can allege no cause. + + + 50 + +How heavy do I journey on the way, +When what I seek (my weary travel’s end) +Doth teach that case and that repose to say +’Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend.’ +The beast that bears me, tired with my woe, +Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me, +As if by some instinct the wretch did know +His rider loved not speed being made from thee: +The bloody spur cannot provoke him on, +That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide, +Which heavily he answers with a groan, +More sharp to me than spurring to his side, + For that same groan doth put this in my mind, + My grief lies onward and my joy behind. + + + 51 + +Thus can my love excuse the slow offence, +Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed, +From where thou art, why should I haste me thence? +Till I return of posting is no need. +O what excuse will my poor beast then find, +When swift extremity can seem but slow? +Then should I spur though mounted on the wind, +In winged speed no motion shall I know, +Then can no horse with my desire keep pace, +Therefore desire (of perfect’st love being made) +Shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race, +But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade: + Since from thee going, he went wilful-slow, + Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go. + + + 52 + +So am I as the rich whose blessed key, +Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, +The which he will not every hour survey, +For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure. +Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare, +Since seldom coming in that long year set, +Like stones of worth they thinly placed are, +Or captain jewels in the carcanet. +So is the time that keeps you as my chest +Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide, +To make some special instant special-blest, +By new unfolding his imprisoned pride. + Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope, + Being had to triumph, being lacked to hope. + + + 53 + +What is your substance, whereof are you made, +That millions of strange shadows on you tend? +Since every one, hath every one, one shade, +And you but one, can every shadow lend: +Describe Adonis and the counterfeit, +Is poorly imitated after you, +On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set, +And you in Grecian tires are painted new: +Speak of the spring, and foison of the year, +The one doth shadow of your beauty show, +The other as your bounty doth appear, +And you in every blessed shape we know. + In all external grace you have some part, + But you like none, none you for constant heart. + + + 54 + +O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, +By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! +The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem +For that sweet odour, which doth in it live: +The canker blooms have full as deep a dye, +As the perfumed tincture of the roses, +Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, +When summer’s breath their masked buds discloses: +But for their virtue only is their show, +They live unwooed, and unrespected fade, +Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so, +Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: + And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, + When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth. + + + 55 + +Not marble, nor the gilded monuments +Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme, +But you shall shine more bright in these contents +Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. +When wasteful war shall statues overturn, +And broils root out the work of masonry, +Nor Mars his sword, nor war’s quick fire shall burn: +The living record of your memory. +’Gainst death, and all-oblivious enmity +Shall you pace forth, your praise shall still find room, +Even in the eyes of all posterity +That wear this world out to the ending doom. + So till the judgement that yourself arise, + You live in this, and dwell in lovers’ eyes. + + + 56 + +Sweet love renew thy force, be it not said +Thy edge should blunter be than appetite, +Which but to-day by feeding is allayed, +To-morrow sharpened in his former might. +So love be thou, although to-day thou fill +Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness, +To-morrow see again, and do not kill +The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness: +Let this sad interim like the ocean be +Which parts the shore, where two contracted new, +Come daily to the banks, that when they see: +Return of love, more blest may be the view. + Or call it winter, which being full of care, + Makes summer’s welcome, thrice more wished, more rare. + + + 57 + +Being your slave what should I do but tend, +Upon the hours, and times of your desire? +I have no precious time at all to spend; +Nor services to do till you require. +Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour, +Whilst I (my sovereign) watch the clock for you, +Nor think the bitterness of absence sour, +When you have bid your servant once adieu. +Nor dare I question with my jealous thought, +Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, +But like a sad slave stay and think of nought +Save where you are, how happy you make those. + So true a fool is love, that in your will, + (Though you do any thing) he thinks no ill. + + + 58 + +That god forbid, that made me first your slave, +I should in thought control your times of pleasure, +Or at your hand th’ account of hours to crave, +Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure. +O let me suffer (being at your beck) +Th’ imprisoned absence of your liberty, +And patience tame to sufferance bide each check, +Without accusing you of injury. +Be where you list, your charter is so strong, +That you yourself may privilage your time +To what you will, to you it doth belong, +Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. + I am to wait, though waiting so be hell, + Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well. + + + 59 + +If there be nothing new, but that which is, +Hath been before, how are our brains beguiled, +Which labouring for invention bear amiss +The second burthen of a former child! +O that record could with a backward look, +Even of five hundred courses of the sun, +Show me your image in some antique book, +Since mind at first in character was done. +That I might see what the old world could say, +To this composed wonder of your frame, +Whether we are mended, or whether better they, +Or whether revolution be the same. + O sure I am the wits of former days, + To subjects worse have given admiring praise. + + + 60 + +Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, +So do our minutes hasten to their end, +Each changing place with that which goes before, +In sequent toil all forwards do contend. +Nativity once in the main of light, +Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, +Crooked eclipses ’gainst his glory fight, +And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. +Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, +And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow, +Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth, +And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow. + And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand + Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. + + + 61 + +Is it thy will, thy image should keep open +My heavy eyelids to the weary night? +Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, +While shadows like to thee do mock my sight? +Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee +So far from home into my deeds to pry, +To find out shames and idle hours in me, +The scope and tenure of thy jealousy? +O no, thy love though much, is not so great, +It is my love that keeps mine eye awake, +Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat, +To play the watchman ever for thy sake. + For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere, + From me far off, with others all too near. + + + 62 + +Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye, +And all my soul, and all my every part; +And for this sin there is no remedy, +It is so grounded inward in my heart. +Methinks no face so gracious is as mine, +No shape so true, no truth of such account, +And for my self mine own worth do define, +As I all other in all worths surmount. +But when my glass shows me my self indeed +beated and chopt with tanned antiquity, +Mine own self-love quite contrary I read: +Self, so self-loving were iniquity. + ’Tis thee, myself, that for myself I praise, + Painting my age with beauty of thy days. + + + 63 + +Against my love shall be as I am now +With Time’s injurious hand crushed and o’erworn, +When hours have drained his blood and filled his brow +With lines and wrinkles, when his youthful morn +Hath travelled on to age’s steepy night, +And all those beauties whereof now he’s king +Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, +Stealing away the treasure of his spring: +For such a time do I now fortify +Against confounding age’s cruel knife, +That he shall never cut from memory +My sweet love’s beauty, though my lover’s life. + His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, + And they shall live, and he in them still green. + + + 64 + +When I have seen by Time’s fell hand defaced +The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age, +When sometime lofty towers I see down-rased, +And brass eternal slave to mortal rage. +When I have seen the hungry ocean gain +Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, +And the firm soil win of the watery main, +Increasing store with loss, and loss with store. +When I have seen such interchange of State, +Or state it self confounded, to decay, +Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate: +That Time will come and take my love away. + This thought is as a death which cannot choose + But weep to have, that which it fears to lose. + + + 65 + +Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, +But sad mortality o’ersways their power, +How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, +Whose action is no stronger than a flower? +O how shall summer’s honey breath hold out, +Against the wrackful siege of batt’ring days, +When rocks impregnable are not so stout, +Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays? +O fearful meditation, where alack, +Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid? +Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, +Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? + O none, unless this miracle have might, + That in black ink my love may still shine bright. + + + 66 + +Tired with all these, for restful death I cry: +As to behold desert a beggar born, +And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, +And purest faith unhappily forsworn, +And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, +And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, +And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, +And strength by limping sway disabled +And art made tongue-tied by authority, +And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, +And simple truth miscalled simplicity, +And captive good attending captain ill. + Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, + Save that to die, I leave my love alone. + + + 67 + +Ah wherefore with infection should he live, +And with his presence grace impiety, +That sin by him advantage should achieve, +And lace it self with his society? +Why should false painting imitate his cheek, +And steal dead seeming of his living hue? +Why should poor beauty indirectly seek, +Roses of shadow, since his rose is true? +Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is, +Beggared of blood to blush through lively veins, +For she hath no exchequer now but his, +And proud of many, lives upon his gains? + O him she stores, to show what wealth she had, + In days long since, before these last so bad. + + + 68 + +Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn, +When beauty lived and died as flowers do now, +Before these bastard signs of fair were born, +Or durst inhabit on a living brow: +Before the golden tresses of the dead, +The right of sepulchres, were shorn away, +To live a second life on second head, +Ere beauty’s dead fleece made another gay: +In him those holy antique hours are seen, +Without all ornament, it self and true, +Making no summer of another’s green, +Robbing no old to dress his beauty new, + And him as for a map doth Nature store, + To show false Art what beauty was of yore. + + + 69 + +Those parts of thee that the world’s eye doth view, +Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend: +All tongues, the voice of souls, give thee that due, +Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend. +Thy outward thus with outward praise is crowned, +But those same tongues that give thee so thine own, +In other accents do this praise confound +By seeing farther than the eye hath shown. +They look into the beauty of thy mind, +And that in guess they measure by thy deeds, +Then churls their thoughts (although their eyes were kind) +To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds: + But why thy odour matcheth not thy show, + The soil is this, that thou dost common grow. + + + 70 + +That thou art blamed shall not be thy defect, +For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair, +The ornament of beauty is suspect, +A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air. +So thou be good, slander doth but approve, +Thy worth the greater being wooed of time, +For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love, +And thou present’st a pure unstained prime. +Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days, +Either not assailed, or victor being charged, +Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise, +To tie up envy, evermore enlarged, + If some suspect of ill masked not thy show, + Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe. + + + 71 + +No longer mourn for me when I am dead, +Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell +Give warning to the world that I am fled +From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell: +Nay if you read this line, remember not, +The hand that writ it, for I love you so, +That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, +If thinking on me then should make you woe. +O if, I say, you look upon this verse, +When I (perhaps) compounded am with clay, +Do not so much as my poor name rehearse; +But let your love even with my life decay. + Lest the wise world should look into your moan, + And mock you with me after I am gone. + + + 72 + +O lest the world should task you to recite, +What merit lived in me that you should love +After my death, dear love, forget me quite, +For you in me can nothing worthy prove. +Unless you would devise some virtuous lie, +To do more for me than mine own desert, +And hang more praise upon deceased I, +Than niggard truth would willingly impart: +O lest your true love may seem false in this, +That you for love speak well of me untrue, +My name be buried where my body is, +And live no more to shame nor me, nor you. + For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, + And so should you, to love things nothing worth. + + + 73 + +That time of year thou mayst in me behold, +When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang +Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, +Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. +In me thou seest the twilight of such day, +As after sunset fadeth in the west, +Which by and by black night doth take away, +Death’s second self that seals up all in rest. +In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, +That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, +As the death-bed, whereon it must expire, +Consumed with that which it was nourished by. + This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong, + To love that well, which thou must leave ere long. + + + 74 + +But be contented when that fell arrest, +Without all bail shall carry me away, +My life hath in this line some interest, +Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. +When thou reviewest this, thou dost review, +The very part was consecrate to thee, +The earth can have but earth, which is his due, +My spirit is thine the better part of me, +So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, +The prey of worms, my body being dead, +The coward conquest of a wretch’s knife, +Too base of thee to be remembered, + The worth of that, is that which it contains, + And that is this, and this with thee remains. + + + 75 + +So are you to my thoughts as food to life, +Or as sweet-seasoned showers are to the ground; +And for the peace of you I hold such strife +As ’twixt a miser and his wealth is found. +Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon +Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure, +Now counting best to be with you alone, +Then bettered that the world may see my pleasure, +Sometime all full with feasting on your sight, +And by and by clean starved for a look, +Possessing or pursuing no delight +Save what is had, or must from you be took. + Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day, + Or gluttoning on all, or all away. + + + 76 + +Why is my verse so barren of new pride? +So far from variation or quick change? +Why with the time do I not glance aside +To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? +Why write I still all one, ever the same, +And keep invention in a noted weed, +That every word doth almost tell my name, +Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? +O know sweet love I always write of you, +And you and love are still my argument: +So all my best is dressing old words new, +Spending again what is already spent: + For as the sun is daily new and old, + So is my love still telling what is told. + + + 77 + +Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, +Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste, +These vacant leaves thy mind’s imprint will bear, +And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste. +The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, +Of mouthed graves will give thee memory, +Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst know, +Time’s thievish progress to eternity. +Look what thy memory cannot contain, +Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find +Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, +To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. + These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, + Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. + + + 78 + +So oft have I invoked thee for my muse, +And found such fair assistance in my verse, +As every alien pen hath got my use, +And under thee their poesy disperse. +Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing, +And heavy ignorance aloft to fly, +Have added feathers to the learned’s wing, +And given grace a double majesty. +Yet be most proud of that which I compile, +Whose influence is thine, and born of thee, +In others’ works thou dost but mend the style, +And arts with thy sweet graces graced be. + But thou art all my art, and dost advance + As high as learning, my rude ignorance. + + + 79 + +Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, +My verse alone had all thy gentle grace, +But now my gracious numbers are decayed, +And my sick muse doth give an other place. +I grant (sweet love) thy lovely argument +Deserves the travail of a worthier pen, +Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, +He robs thee of, and pays it thee again, +He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word, +From thy behaviour, beauty doth he give +And found it in thy cheek: he can afford +No praise to thee, but what in thee doth live. + Then thank him not for that which he doth say, + Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay. + + + 80 + +O how I faint when I of you do write, +Knowing a better spirit doth use your name, +And in the praise thereof spends all his might, +To make me tongue-tied speaking of your fame. +But since your worth, wide as the ocean is, +The humble as the proudest sail doth bear, +My saucy bark (inferior far to his) +On your broad main doth wilfully appear. +Your shallowest help will hold me up afloat, +Whilst he upon your soundless deep doth ride, +Or (being wrecked) I am a worthless boat, +He of tall building, and of goodly pride. + Then if he thrive and I be cast away, + The worst was this: my love was my decay. + + + 81 + +Or I shall live your epitaph to make, +Or you survive when I in earth am rotten, +From hence your memory death cannot take, +Although in me each part will be forgotten. +Your name from hence immortal life shall have, +Though I (once gone) to all the world must die, +The earth can yield me but a common grave, +When you entombed in men’s eyes shall lie, +Your monument shall be my gentle verse, +Which eyes not yet created shall o’er-read, +And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse, +When all the breathers of this world are dead, + You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen, + Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. + + + 82 + +I grant thou wert not married to my muse, +And therefore mayst without attaint o’erlook +The dedicated words which writers use +Of their fair subject, blessing every book. +Thou art as fair in knowledge as in hue, +Finding thy worth a limit past my praise, +And therefore art enforced to seek anew, +Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. +And do so love, yet when they have devised, +What strained touches rhetoric can lend, +Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathized, +In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend. + And their gross painting might be better used, + Where cheeks need blood, in thee it is abused. + + + 83 + +I never saw that you did painting need, +And therefore to your fair no painting set, +I found (or thought I found) you did exceed, +That barren tender of a poet’s debt: +And therefore have I slept in your report, +That you yourself being extant well might show, +How far a modern quill doth come too short, +Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow. +This silence for my sin you did impute, +Which shall be most my glory being dumb, +For I impair not beauty being mute, +When others would give life, and bring a tomb. + There lives more life in one of your fair eyes, + Than both your poets can in praise devise. + + + 84 + +Who is it that says most, which can say more, +Than this rich praise: that you alone are you, +In whose confine immured is the store, +Which should example where your equal grew. +Lean penury within that pen doth dwell, +That to his subject lends not some small glory, +But he that writes of you, if he can tell, +That you are you, so dignifies his story. +Let him but copy what in you is writ, +Not making worse what nature made so clear, +And such a counterpart shall fame his wit, +Making his style admired every where. + You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, + Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse. + + + 85 + +My tongue-tied muse in manners holds her still, +While comments of your praise richly compiled, +Reserve their character with golden quill, +And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. +I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, +And like unlettered clerk still cry Amen, +To every hymn that able spirit affords, +In polished form of well refined pen. +Hearing you praised, I say ’tis so, ’tis true, +And to the most of praise add something more, +But that is in my thought, whose love to you +(Though words come hindmost) holds his rank before, + Then others, for the breath of words respect, + Me for my dumb thoughts, speaking in effect. + + + 86 + +Was it the proud full sail of his great verse, +Bound for the prize of (all too precious) you, +That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse, +Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew? +Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write, +Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead? +No, neither he, nor his compeers by night +Giving him aid, my verse astonished. +He nor that affable familiar ghost +Which nightly gulls him with intelligence, +As victors of my silence cannot boast, +I was not sick of any fear from thence. + But when your countenance filled up his line, + Then lacked I matter, that enfeebled mine. + + + 87 + +Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, +And like enough thou know’st thy estimate, +The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing: +My bonds in thee are all determinate. +For how do I hold thee but by thy granting, +And for that riches where is my deserving? +The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, +And so my patent back again is swerving. +Thyself thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing, +Or me to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking, +So thy great gift upon misprision growing, +Comes home again, on better judgement making. + Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter, + In sleep a king, but waking no such matter. + + + 88 + +When thou shalt be disposed to set me light, +And place my merit in the eye of scorn, +Upon thy side, against my self I’ll fight, +And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn: +With mine own weakness being best acquainted, +Upon thy part I can set down a story +Of faults concealed, wherein I am attainted: +That thou in losing me, shalt win much glory: +And I by this will be a gainer too, +For bending all my loving thoughts on thee, +The injuries that to my self I do, +Doing thee vantage, double-vantage me. + Such is my love, to thee I so belong, + That for thy right, my self will bear all wrong. + + + 89 + +Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault, +And I will comment upon that offence, +Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt: +Against thy reasons making no defence. +Thou canst not (love) disgrace me half so ill, +To set a form upon desired change, +As I’ll my self disgrace, knowing thy will, +I will acquaintance strangle and look strange: +Be absent from thy walks and in my tongue, +Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell, +Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong, +And haply of our old acquaintance tell. + For thee, against my self I’ll vow debate, + For I must ne’er love him whom thou dost hate. + + + 90 + +Then hate me when thou wilt, if ever, now, +Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross, +join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, +And do not drop in for an after-loss: +Ah do not, when my heart hath ’scaped this sorrow, +Come in the rearward of a conquered woe, +Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, +To linger out a purposed overthrow. +If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, +When other petty griefs have done their spite, +But in the onset come, so shall I taste +At first the very worst of fortune’s might. + And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, + Compared with loss of thee, will not seem so. + + + 91 + +Some glory in their birth, some in their skill, +Some in their wealth, some in their body’s force, +Some in their garments though new-fangled ill: +Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse. +And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure, +Wherein it finds a joy above the rest, +But these particulars are not my measure, +All these I better in one general best. +Thy love is better than high birth to me, +Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ costs, +Of more delight than hawks and horses be: +And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast. + Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take, + All this away, and me most wretched make. + + + 92 + +But do thy worst to steal thyself away, +For term of life thou art assured mine, +And life no longer than thy love will stay, +For it depends upon that love of thine. +Then need I not to fear the worst of wrongs, +When in the least of them my life hath end, +I see, a better state to me belongs +Than that, which on thy humour doth depend. +Thou canst not vex me with inconstant mind, +Since that my life on thy revolt doth lie, +O what a happy title do I find, +Happy to have thy love, happy to die! + But what’s so blessed-fair that fears no blot? + Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not. + + + 93 + +So shall I live, supposing thou art true, +Like a deceived husband, so love’s face, +May still seem love to me, though altered new: +Thy looks with me, thy heart in other place. +For there can live no hatred in thine eye, +Therefore in that I cannot know thy change, +In many’s looks, the false heart’s history +Is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange. +But heaven in thy creation did decree, +That in thy face sweet love should ever dwell, +Whate’er thy thoughts, or thy heart’s workings be, +Thy looks should nothing thence, but sweetness tell. + How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow, + If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show. + + + 94 + +They that have power to hurt, and will do none, +That do not do the thing, they most do show, +Who moving others, are themselves as stone, +Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow: +They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces, +And husband nature’s riches from expense, +They are the lords and owners of their faces, +Others, but stewards of their excellence: +The summer’s flower is to the summer sweet, +Though to it self, it only live and die, +But if that flower with base infection meet, +The basest weed outbraves his dignity: + For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds, + Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds. + + + 95 + +How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame, +Which like a canker in the fragrant rose, +Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name! +O in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose! +That tongue that tells the story of thy days, +(Making lascivious comments on thy sport) +Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise, +Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. +O what a mansion have those vices got, +Which for their habitation chose out thee, +Where beauty’s veil doth cover every blot, +And all things turns to fair, that eyes can see! + Take heed (dear heart) of this large privilege, + The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge. + + + 96 + +Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness, +Some say thy grace is youth and gentle sport, +Both grace and faults are loved of more and less: +Thou mak’st faults graces, that to thee resort: +As on the finger of a throned queen, +The basest jewel will be well esteemed: +So are those errors that in thee are seen, +To truths translated, and for true things deemed. +How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, +If like a lamb he could his looks translate! +How many gazers mightst thou lead away, +If thou wouldst use the strength of all thy state! + But do not so, I love thee in such sort, + As thou being mine, mine is thy good report. + + + 97 + +How like a winter hath my absence been +From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! +What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen! +What old December’s bareness everywhere! +And yet this time removed was summer’s time, +The teeming autumn big with rich increase, +Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, +Like widowed wombs after their lords’ decease: +Yet this abundant issue seemed to me +But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit, +For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, +And thou away, the very birds are mute. + Or if they sing, ’tis with so dull a cheer, + That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near. + + + 98 + +From you have I been absent in the spring, +When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim) +Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing: +That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. +Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell +Of different flowers in odour and in hue, +Could make me any summer’s story tell: +Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: +Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white, +Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose, +They were but sweet, but figures of delight: +Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. + Yet seemed it winter still, and you away, + As with your shadow I with these did play. + + + 99 + +The forward violet thus did I chide, +Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, +If not from my love’s breath? The purple pride +Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, +In my love’s veins thou hast too grossly dyed. +The lily I condemned for thy hand, +And buds of marjoram had stol’n thy hair, +The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, +One blushing shame, another white despair: +A third nor red, nor white, had stol’n of both, +And to his robbery had annexed thy breath, +But for his theft in pride of all his growth +A vengeful canker eat him up to death. + More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, + But sweet, or colour it had stol’n from thee. + + + 100 + +Where art thou Muse that thou forget’st so long, +To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? +Spend’st thou thy fury on some worthless song, +Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? +Return forgetful Muse, and straight redeem, +In gentle numbers time so idly spent, +Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem, +And gives thy pen both skill and argument. +Rise resty Muse, my love’s sweet face survey, +If time have any wrinkle graven there, +If any, be a satire to decay, +And make time’s spoils despised everywhere. + Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life, + So thou prevent’st his scythe, and crooked knife. + + + 101 + +O truant Muse what shall be thy amends, +For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed? +Both truth and beauty on my love depends: +So dost thou too, and therein dignified: +Make answer Muse, wilt thou not haply say, +’Truth needs no colour with his colour fixed, +Beauty no pencil, beauty’s truth to lay: +But best is best, if never intermixed’? +Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? +Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee, +To make him much outlive a gilded tomb: +And to be praised of ages yet to be. + Then do thy office Muse, I teach thee how, + To make him seem long hence, as he shows now. + + + 102 + +My love is strengthened though more weak in seeming, +I love not less, though less the show appear, +That love is merchandized, whose rich esteeming, +The owner’s tongue doth publish every where. +Our love was new, and then but in the spring, +When I was wont to greet it with my lays, +As Philomel in summer’s front doth sing, +And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: +Not that the summer is less pleasant now +Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, +But that wild music burthens every bough, +And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. + Therefore like her, I sometime hold my tongue: + Because I would not dull you with my song. + + + 103 + +Alack what poverty my muse brings forth, +That having such a scope to show her pride, +The argument all bare is of more worth +Than when it hath my added praise beside. +O blame me not if I no more can write! +Look in your glass and there appears a face, +That over-goes my blunt invention quite, +Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. +Were it not sinful then striving to mend, +To mar the subject that before was well? +For to no other pass my verses tend, +Than of your graces and your gifts to tell. + And more, much more than in my verse can sit, + Your own glass shows you, when you look in it. + + + 104 + +To me fair friend you never can be old, +For as you were when first your eye I eyed, +Such seems your beauty still: three winters cold, +Have from the forests shook three summers’ pride, +Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned, +In process of the seasons have I seen, +Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, +Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. +Ah yet doth beauty like a dial hand, +Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived, +So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand +Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived. + For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred, + Ere you were born was beauty’s summer dead. + + + 105 + +Let not my love be called idolatry, +Nor my beloved as an idol show, +Since all alike my songs and praises be +To one, of one, still such, and ever so. +Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, +Still constant in a wondrous excellence, +Therefore my verse to constancy confined, +One thing expressing, leaves out difference. +Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument, +Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words, +And in this change is my invention spent, +Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords. + Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone. + Which three till now, never kept seat in one. + + + 106 + +When in the chronicle of wasted time, +I see descriptions of the fairest wights, +And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, +In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, +Then in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best, +Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, +I see their antique pen would have expressed, +Even such a beauty as you master now. +So all their praises are but prophecies +Of this our time, all you prefiguring, +And for they looked but with divining eyes, +They had not skill enough your worth to sing: + For we which now behold these present days, + Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. + + + 107 + +Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul, +Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, +Can yet the lease of my true love control, +Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. +The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, +And the sad augurs mock their own presage, +Incertainties now crown themselves assured, +And peace proclaims olives of endless age. +Now with the drops of this most balmy time, +My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribes, +Since spite of him I’ll live in this poor rhyme, +While he insults o’er dull and speechless tribes. + And thou in this shalt find thy monument, + When tyrants’ crests and tombs of brass are spent. + + + 108 + +What’s in the brain that ink may character, +Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit, +What’s new to speak, what now to register, +That may express my love, or thy dear merit? +Nothing sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine, +I must each day say o’er the very same, +Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine, +Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name. +So that eternal love in love’s fresh case, +Weighs not the dust and injury of age, +Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, +But makes antiquity for aye his page, + Finding the first conceit of love there bred, + Where time and outward form would show it dead. + + + 109 + +O never say that I was false of heart, +Though absence seemed my flame to qualify, +As easy might I from my self depart, +As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: +That is my home of love, if I have ranged, +Like him that travels I return again, +Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, +So that my self bring water for my stain, +Never believe though in my nature reigned, +All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, +That it could so preposterously be stained, +To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: + For nothing this wide universe I call, + Save thou my rose, in it thou art my all. + + + 110 + +Alas ’tis true, I have gone here and there, +And made my self a motley to the view, +Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, +Made old offences of affections new. +Most true it is, that I have looked on truth +Askance and strangely: but by all above, +These blenches gave my heart another youth, +And worse essays proved thee my best of love. +Now all is done, have what shall have no end, +Mine appetite I never more will grind +On newer proof, to try an older friend, +A god in love, to whom I am confined. + Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, + Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. + + + 111 + +O for my sake do you with Fortune chide, +The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, +That did not better for my life provide, +Than public means which public manners breeds. +Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, +And almost thence my nature is subdued +To what it works in, like the dyer’s hand: +Pity me then, and wish I were renewed, +Whilst like a willing patient I will drink, +Potions of eisel ’gainst my strong infection, +No bitterness that I will bitter think, +Nor double penance to correct correction. + Pity me then dear friend, and I assure ye, + Even that your pity is enough to cure me. + + + 112 + +Your love and pity doth th’ impression fill, +Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow, +For what care I who calls me well or ill, +So you o’er-green my bad, my good allow? +You are my all the world, and I must strive, +To know my shames and praises from your tongue, +None else to me, nor I to none alive, +That my steeled sense or changes right or wrong. +In so profound abysm I throw all care +Of others’ voices, that my adder’s sense, +To critic and to flatterer stopped are: +Mark how with my neglect I do dispense. + You are so strongly in my purpose bred, + That all the world besides methinks are dead. + + + 113 + +Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, +And that which governs me to go about, +Doth part his function, and is partly blind, +Seems seeing, but effectually is out: +For it no form delivers to the heart +Of bird, of flower, or shape which it doth latch, +Of his quick objects hath the mind no part, +Nor his own vision holds what it doth catch: +For if it see the rud’st or gentlest sight, +The most sweet favour or deformed’st creature, +The mountain, or the sea, the day, or night: +The crow, or dove, it shapes them to your feature. + Incapable of more, replete with you, + My most true mind thus maketh mine untrue. + + + 114 + +Or whether doth my mind being crowned with you +Drink up the monarch’s plague this flattery? +Or whether shall I say mine eye saith true, +And that your love taught it this alchemy? +To make of monsters, and things indigest, +Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, +Creating every bad a perfect best +As fast as objects to his beams assemble: +O ’tis the first, ’tis flattery in my seeing, +And my great mind most kingly drinks it up, +Mine eye well knows what with his gust is ’greeing, +And to his palate doth prepare the cup. + If it be poisoned, ’tis the lesser sin, + That mine eye loves it and doth first begin. + + + 115 + +Those lines that I before have writ do lie, +Even those that said I could not love you dearer, +Yet then my judgement knew no reason why, +My most full flame should afterwards burn clearer, +But reckoning time, whose millioned accidents +Creep in ’twixt vows, and change decrees of kings, +Tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents, +Divert strong minds to the course of alt’ring things: +Alas why fearing of time’s tyranny, +Might I not then say ‘Now I love you best,’ +When I was certain o’er incertainty, +Crowning the present, doubting of the rest? + Love is a babe, then might I not say so + To give full growth to that which still doth grow. + + + 116 + +Let me not to the marriage of true minds +Admit impediments, love is not love +Which alters when it alteration finds, +Or bends with the remover to remove. +O no, it is an ever-fixed mark +That looks on tempests and is never shaken; +It is the star to every wand’ring bark, +Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. +Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks +Within his bending sickle’s compass come, +Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, +But bears it out even to the edge of doom: + If this be error and upon me proved, + I never writ, nor no man ever loved. + + + 117 + +Accuse me thus, that I have scanted all, +Wherein I should your great deserts repay, +Forgot upon your dearest love to call, +Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day, +That I have frequent been with unknown minds, +And given to time your own dear-purchased right, +That I have hoisted sail to all the winds +Which should transport me farthest from your sight. +Book both my wilfulness and errors down, +And on just proof surmise, accumulate, +Bring me within the level of your frown, +But shoot not at me in your wakened hate: + Since my appeal says I did strive to prove + The constancy and virtue of your love. + + + 118 + +Like as to make our appetite more keen +With eager compounds we our palate urge, +As to prevent our maladies unseen, +We sicken to shun sickness when we purge. +Even so being full of your ne’er-cloying sweetness, +To bitter sauces did I frame my feeding; +And sick of welfare found a kind of meetness, +To be diseased ere that there was true needing. +Thus policy in love t’ anticipate +The ills that were not, grew to faults assured, +And brought to medicine a healthful state +Which rank of goodness would by ill be cured. + But thence I learn and find the lesson true, + Drugs poison him that so fell sick of you. + + + 119 + +What potions have I drunk of Siren tears +Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within, +Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears, +Still losing when I saw my self to win! +What wretched errors hath my heart committed, +Whilst it hath thought it self so blessed never! +How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted +In the distraction of this madding fever! +O benefit of ill, now I find true +That better is, by evil still made better. +And ruined love when it is built anew +Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater. + So I return rebuked to my content, + And gain by ills thrice more than I have spent. + + + 120 + +That you were once unkind befriends me now, +And for that sorrow, which I then did feel, +Needs must I under my transgression bow, +Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel. +For if you were by my unkindness shaken +As I by yours, y’have passed a hell of time, +And I a tyrant have no leisure taken +To weigh how once I suffered in your crime. +O that our night of woe might have remembered +My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits, +And soon to you, as you to me then tendered +The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits! + But that your trespass now becomes a fee, + Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me. + + + 121 + +’Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, +When not to be, receives reproach of being, +And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, +Not by our feeling, but by others’ seeing. +For why should others’ false adulterate eyes +Give salutation to my sportive blood? +Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, +Which in their wills count bad what I think good? +No, I am that I am, and they that level +At my abuses, reckon up their own, +I may be straight though they themselves be bevel; +By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown + Unless this general evil they maintain, + All men are bad and in their badness reign. + + + 122 + +Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain +Full charactered with lasting memory, +Which shall above that idle rank remain +Beyond all date even to eternity. +Or at the least, so long as brain and heart +Have faculty by nature to subsist, +Till each to razed oblivion yield his part +Of thee, thy record never can be missed: +That poor retention could not so much hold, +Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score, +Therefore to give them from me was I bold, +To trust those tables that receive thee more: + To keep an adjunct to remember thee + Were to import forgetfulness in me. + + + 123 + +No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change, +Thy pyramids built up with newer might +To me are nothing novel, nothing strange, +They are but dressings of a former sight: +Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire, +What thou dost foist upon us that is old, +And rather make them born to our desire, +Than think that we before have heard them told: +Thy registers and thee I both defy, +Not wond’ring at the present, nor the past, +For thy records, and what we see doth lie, +Made more or less by thy continual haste: + This I do vow and this shall ever be, + I will be true despite thy scythe and thee. + + + 124 + +If my dear love were but the child of state, +It might for Fortune’s bastard be unfathered, +As subject to time’s love or to time’s hate, +Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered. +No it was builded far from accident, +It suffers not in smiling pomp, nor falls +Under the blow of thralled discontent, +Whereto th’ inviting time our fashion calls: +It fears not policy that heretic, +Which works on leases of short-numbered hours, +But all alone stands hugely politic, +That it nor grows with heat, nor drowns with showers. + To this I witness call the fools of time, + Which die for goodness, who have lived for crime. + + + 125 + +Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy, +With my extern the outward honouring, +Or laid great bases for eternity, +Which proves more short than waste or ruining? +Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour +Lose all, and more by paying too much rent +For compound sweet; forgoing simple savour, +Pitiful thrivers in their gazing spent? +No, let me be obsequious in thy heart, +And take thou my oblation, poor but free, +Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art, +But mutual render, only me for thee. + Hence, thou suborned informer, a true soul + When most impeached, stands least in thy control. + + + 126 + +O thou my lovely boy who in thy power, +Dost hold Time’s fickle glass his fickle hour: +Who hast by waning grown, and therein show’st, +Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow’st. +If Nature (sovereign mistress over wrack) +As thou goest onwards still will pluck thee back, +She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill +May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill. +Yet fear her O thou minion of her pleasure, +She may detain, but not still keep her treasure! + Her audit (though delayed) answered must be, + And her quietus is to render thee. + + + 127 + +In the old age black was not counted fair, +Or if it were it bore not beauty’s name: +But now is black beauty’s successive heir, +And beauty slandered with a bastard shame, +For since each hand hath put on nature’s power, +Fairing the foul with art’s false borrowed face, +Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower, +But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace. +Therefore my mistress’ eyes are raven black, +Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem +At such who not born fair no beauty lack, +Slandering creation with a false esteem, + Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe, + That every tongue says beauty should look so. + + + 128 + +How oft when thou, my music, music play’st, +Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds +With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway’st +The wiry concord that mine ear confounds, +Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap, +To kiss the tender inward of thy hand, +Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap, +At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand. +To be so tickled they would change their state +And situation with those dancing chips, +O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait, +Making dead wood more blest than living lips, + Since saucy jacks so happy are in this, + Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss. + + + 129 + +Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame +Is lust in action, and till action, lust +Is perjured, murd’rous, bloody full of blame, +Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust, +Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight, +Past reason hunted, and no sooner had +Past reason hated as a swallowed bait, +On purpose laid to make the taker mad. +Mad in pursuit and in possession so, +Had, having, and in quest, to have extreme, +A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; +Before a joy proposed behind a dream. + All this the world well knows yet none knows well, + To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. + + + 130 + +My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun, +Coral is far more red, than her lips red, +If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun: +If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head: +I have seen roses damasked, red and white, +But no such roses see I in her cheeks, +And in some perfumes is there more delight, +Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. +I love to hear her speak, yet well I know, +That music hath a far more pleasing sound: +I grant I never saw a goddess go; +My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. + And yet by heaven I think my love as rare, + As any she belied with false compare. + + + 131 + +Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, +As those whose beauties proudly make them cruel; +For well thou know’st to my dear doting heart +Thou art the fairest and most precious jewel. +Yet in good faith some say that thee behold, +Thy face hath not the power to make love groan; +To say they err, I dare not be so bold, +Although I swear it to my self alone. +And to be sure that is not false I swear, +A thousand groans but thinking on thy face, +One on another’s neck do witness bear +Thy black is fairest in my judgement’s place. + In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds, + And thence this slander as I think proceeds. + + + 132 + +Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me, +Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain, +Have put on black, and loving mourners be, +Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain. +And truly not the morning sun of heaven +Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east, +Nor that full star that ushers in the even +Doth half that glory to the sober west +As those two mourning eyes become thy face: +O let it then as well beseem thy heart +To mourn for me since mourning doth thee grace, +And suit thy pity like in every part. + Then will I swear beauty herself is black, + And all they foul that thy complexion lack. + + + 133 + +Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan +For that deep wound it gives my friend and me; +Is’t not enough to torture me alone, +But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be? +Me from my self thy cruel eye hath taken, +And my next self thou harder hast engrossed, +Of him, my self, and thee I am forsaken, +A torment thrice three-fold thus to be crossed: +Prison my heart in thy steel bosom’s ward, +But then my friend’s heart let my poor heart bail, +Whoe’er keeps me, let my heart be his guard, +Thou canst not then use rigour in my gaol. + And yet thou wilt, for I being pent in thee, + Perforce am thine and all that is in me. + + + 134 + +So now I have confessed that he is thine, +And I my self am mortgaged to thy will, +My self I’ll forfeit, so that other mine, +Thou wilt restore to be my comfort still: +But thou wilt not, nor he will not be free, +For thou art covetous, and he is kind, +He learned but surety-like to write for me, +Under that bond that him as fist doth bind. +The statute of thy beauty thou wilt take, +Thou usurer that put’st forth all to use, +And sue a friend, came debtor for my sake, +So him I lose through my unkind abuse. + Him have I lost, thou hast both him and me, + He pays the whole, and yet am I not free. + + + 135 + +Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy will, +And Will to boot, and Will in overplus, +More than enough am I that vex thee still, +To thy sweet will making addition thus. +Wilt thou whose will is large and spacious, +Not once vouchsafe to hide my will in thine? +Shall will in others seem right gracious, +And in my will no fair acceptance shine? +The sea all water, yet receives rain still, +And in abundance addeth to his store, +So thou being rich in will add to thy will +One will of mine to make thy large will more. + Let no unkind, no fair beseechers kill, + Think all but one, and me in that one Will. + + + 136 + +If thy soul check thee that I come so near, +Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy Will, +And will thy soul knows is admitted there, +Thus far for love, my love-suit sweet fulfil. +Will will fulfil the treasure of thy love, +Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one, +In things of great receipt with case we prove, +Among a number one is reckoned none. +Then in the number let me pass untold, +Though in thy store’s account I one must be, +For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold, +That nothing me, a something sweet to thee. + Make but my name thy love, and love that still, + And then thou lov’st me for my name is Will. + + + 137 + +Thou blind fool Love, what dost thou to mine eyes, +That they behold and see not what they see? +They know what beauty is, see where it lies, +Yet what the best is, take the worst to be. +If eyes corrupt by over-partial looks, +Be anchored in the bay where all men ride, +Why of eyes’ falsehood hast thou forged hooks, +Whereto the judgement of my heart is tied? +Why should my heart think that a several plot, +Which my heart knows the wide world’s common place? +Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not +To put fair truth upon so foul a face? + In things right true my heart and eyes have erred, + And to this false plague are they now transferred. + + + 138 + +When my love swears that she is made of truth, +I do believe, her though I know she lies, +That she might think me some untutored youth, +Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties. +Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young, +Although she knows my days are past the best, +Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue; +On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed. +But wherefore says she not she is unjust? +And wherefore say not I that I am old? +O love’s best habit is in seeming trust, +And age in love loves not to have years told. + Therefore I lie with her, and she with me, + And in our faults by lies we flattered be. + + + 139 + +O call not me to justify the wrong, +That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, +Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, +Use power with power, and slay me not by art, +Tell me thou lov’st elsewhere; but in my sight, +Dear heart forbear to glance thine eye aside, +What need’st thou wound with cunning when thy might +Is more than my o’erpressed defence can bide? +Let me excuse thee, ah my love well knows, +Her pretty looks have been mine enemies, +And therefore from my face she turns my foes, +That they elsewhere might dart their injuries: + Yet do not so, but since I am near slain, + Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain. + + + 140 + +Be wise as thou art cruel, do not press +My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain: +Lest sorrow lend me words and words express, +The manner of my pity-wanting pain. +If I might teach thee wit better it were, +Though not to love, yet love to tell me so, +As testy sick men when their deaths be near, +No news but health from their physicians know. +For if I should despair I should grow mad, +And in my madness might speak ill of thee, +Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad, +Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be. + That I may not be so, nor thou belied, + Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide. + + + 141 + +In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes, +For they in thee a thousand errors note, +But ’tis my heart that loves what they despise, +Who in despite of view is pleased to dote. +Nor are mine ears with thy tongue’s tune delighted, +Nor tender feeling to base touches prone, +Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited +To any sensual feast with thee alone: +But my five wits, nor my five senses can +Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee, +Who leaves unswayed the likeness of a man, +Thy proud heart’s slave and vassal wretch to be: + Only my plague thus far I count my gain, + That she that makes me sin, awards me pain. + + + 142 + +Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate, +Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving, +O but with mine, compare thou thine own state, +And thou shalt find it merits not reproving, +Or if it do, not from those lips of thine, +That have profaned their scarlet ornaments, +And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine, +Robbed others’ beds’ revenues of their rents. +Be it lawful I love thee as thou lov’st those, +Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee, +Root pity in thy heart that when it grows, +Thy pity may deserve to pitied be. + If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, + By self-example mayst thou be denied. + + + 143 + +Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch, +One of her feathered creatures broke away, +Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch +In pursuit of the thing she would have stay: +Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase, +Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent, +To follow that which flies before her face: +Not prizing her poor infant’s discontent; +So run’st thou after that which flies from thee, +Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind, +But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me: +And play the mother’s part, kiss me, be kind. + So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will, + If thou turn back and my loud crying still. + + + 144 + +Two loves I have, of comfort and despair, +Which, like two spirits, do suggest me still: +The better angel is a man right fair, +The worser spirit a woman coloured ill. +To win me soon to hell my female evil +Tempteth my better angel from my side, +And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, +Wooing his purity with her foul pride. +And whether that my angel be turned fiend +Suspect I may, yet not directly tell; +But being both from me both to each friend, +I guess one angel in another’s hell. + Yet this shall I ne’er know, but live in doubt, + Till my bad angel fire my good one out. + + + 145 + +Those lips that Love’s own hand did make, +Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate’, +To me that languished for her sake: +But when she saw my woeful state, +Straight in her heart did mercy come, +Chiding that tongue that ever sweet, +Was used in giving gentle doom: +And taught it thus anew to greet: +‘I hate’ she altered with an end, +That followed it as gentle day, +Doth follow night who like a fiend +From heaven to hell is flown away. + ‘I hate’, from hate away she threw, + And saved my life saying ‘not you’. + + + 146 + +Poor soul the centre of my sinful earth, +My sinful earth these rebel powers array, +Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth +Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? +Why so large cost having so short a lease, +Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? +Shall worms inheritors of this excess +Eat up thy charge? is this thy body’s end? +Then soul live thou upon thy servant’s loss, +And let that pine to aggravate thy store; +Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; +Within be fed, without be rich no more, + So shall thou feed on death, that feeds on men, + And death once dead, there’s no more dying then. + + + 147 + +My love is as a fever longing still, +For that which longer nurseth the disease, +Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, +Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please: +My reason the physician to my love, +Angry that his prescriptions are not kept +Hath left me, and I desperate now approve, +Desire is death, which physic did except. +Past cure I am, now reason is past care, +And frantic-mad with evermore unrest, +My thoughts and my discourse as mad men’s are, +At random from the truth vainly expressed. + For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, + Who art as black as hell, as dark as night. + + + 148 + +O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, +Which have no correspondence with true sight, +Or if they have, where is my judgement fled, +That censures falsely what they see aright? +If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, +What means the world to say it is not so? +If it be not, then love doth well denote, +Love’s eye is not so true as all men’s: no, +How can it? O how can love’s eye be true, +That is so vexed with watching and with tears? +No marvel then though I mistake my view, +The sun it self sees not, till heaven clears. + O cunning love, with tears thou keep’st me blind, + Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find. + + + 149 + +Canst thou O cruel, say I love thee not, +When I against my self with thee partake? +Do I not think on thee when I forgot +Am of my self, all-tyrant, for thy sake? +Who hateth thee that I do call my friend, +On whom frown’st thou that I do fawn upon, +Nay if thou lour’st on me do I not spend +Revenge upon my self with present moan? +What merit do I in my self respect, +That is so proud thy service to despise, +When all my best doth worship thy defect, +Commanded by the motion of thine eyes? + But love hate on for now I know thy mind, + Those that can see thou lov’st, and I am blind. + + + 150 + +O from what power hast thou this powerful might, +With insufficiency my heart to sway, +To make me give the lie to my true sight, +And swear that brightness doth not grace the day? +Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, +That in the very refuse of thy deeds, +There is such strength and warrantise of skill, +That in my mind thy worst all best exceeds? +Who taught thee how to make me love thee more, +The more I hear and see just cause of hate? +O though I love what others do abhor, +With others thou shouldst not abhor my state. + If thy unworthiness raised love in me, + More worthy I to be beloved of thee. + + + 151 + +Love is too young to know what conscience is, +Yet who knows not conscience is born of love? +Then gentle cheater urge not my amiss, +Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove. +For thou betraying me, I do betray +My nobler part to my gross body’s treason, +My soul doth tell my body that he may, +Triumph in love, flesh stays no farther reason, +But rising at thy name doth point out thee, +As his triumphant prize, proud of this pride, +He is contented thy poor drudge to be, +To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side. + No want of conscience hold it that I call, + Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall. + + + 152 + +In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn, +But thou art twice forsworn to me love swearing, +In act thy bed-vow broke and new faith torn, +In vowing new hate after new love bearing: +But why of two oaths’ breach do I accuse thee, +When I break twenty? I am perjured most, +For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee: +And all my honest faith in thee is lost. +For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness: +Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy, +And to enlighten thee gave eyes to blindness, +Or made them swear against the thing they see. + For I have sworn thee fair: more perjured I, + To swear against the truth so foul a lie. + + + 153 + +Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep, +A maid of Dian’s this advantage found, +And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep +In a cold valley-fountain of that ground: +Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love, +A dateless lively heat still to endure, +And grew a seething bath which yet men prove, +Against strange maladies a sovereign cure: +But at my mistress’ eye Love’s brand new-fired, +The boy for trial needs would touch my breast, +I sick withal the help of bath desired, +And thither hied a sad distempered guest. + But found no cure, the bath for my help lies, + Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress’ eyes. + + + 154 + +The little Love-god lying once asleep, +Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, +Whilst many nymphs that vowed chaste life to keep, +Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand, +The fairest votary took up that fire, +Which many legions of true hearts had warmed, +And so the general of hot desire, +Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarmed. +This brand she quenched in a cool well by, +Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual, +Growing a bath and healthful remedy, +For men diseased; but I, my mistress’ thrall, + Came there for cure and this by that I prove, + Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love. + + +THE END + + + +ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene II. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. +Scene III. Rossillon. A Room in the Palace. + + +ACT II +Scene I. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. +Scene II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene III. Paris. The King’s palace. +Scene IV. Paris. The King’s palace. +Scene V. Another room in the same. + + +ACT III +Scene I. Florence. A room in the Duke’s palace. +Scene II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene III. Florence. Before the Duke’s palace. +Scene IV. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. +Scene V. Without the walls of Florence. +Scene VI. Camp before Florence. +Scene VII. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + +ACT IV +Scene I. Without the Florentine camp. +Scene II. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. +Scene III. The Florentine camp. +Scene IV. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. +Scene V. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + - THE ENTERING WEDGE +ACT V +Scene I. Marseilles. A street. +Scene II. Rossillon. The inner court of the Countess’s palace. +Scene III. The same. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + + Dramatis Personæ + +KING OF FRANCE. +THE DUKE OF FLORENCE. +BERTRAM, Count of Rossillon. +LAFEW, an old Lord. +PAROLLES, a follower of Bertram. +Several young French Lords, that serve with Bertram in the Florentine +War. +RYNALDO, servant to the Countess of Rossillon. +Clown, servant to the Countess of Rossillon. +A Page, servant to the Countess of Rossillon. +COUNTESS OF ROSSILLON, mother to Bertram. +HELENA, a Gentlewoman protected by the Countess. +An old WIDOW of Florence. +DIANA, daughter to the Widow. +VIOLENTA, neighbour and friend to the Widow. +MARIANA, neighbour and friend to the Widow. +Lords attending on the KING; Officers; Soldiers, &c., French and +Florentine. -AFTER our writing of last night, in which I told you of the tortured -soul who asked my judgment on a course of teaching which had corrupted -a nation, I went back to the battle line in France. (The Germans cannot -sink me with their torpedoes.) +SCENE: Partly in France, and partly in Tuscany. -Passing slowly along on the German side, I saw again the tall majestic -form, dark-veiled about the head, which I described to you in a -previous letter. -This time I hailed him, without waiting for him to hail me. +ACT I -“How goes your work?” I asked. +SCENE I. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. -He threw back the veil which covered him, and I saw the dark and -splendid face, marked deep by thought and evil. + Enter Bertram, the Countess of Rossillon, Helena, and Lafew, all in + black. -“My work goes as it goes,” he answered. “And what have you been doing?” +COUNTESS. +In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband. -“Writing to the world this evening,” I replied. +BERTRAM. +And I in going, madam, weep o’er my father’s death anew; but I must +attend his majesty’s command, to whom I am now in ward, evermore in +subjection. -He laughed. +LAFEW. +You shall find of the king a husband, madam; you, sir, a father. He +that so generally is at all times good, must of necessity hold his +virtue to you, whose worthiness would stir it up where it wanted, +rather than lack it where there is such abundance. -“Have you been writing about peace?” +COUNTESS. +What hope is there of his majesty’s amendment? -“Not this time. I have been writing about a conversation I had with a -great and troubled soul.” +LAFEW. +He hath abandon’d his physicians, madam; under whose practices he hath +persecuted time with hope, and finds no other advantage in the process +but only the losing of hope by time. -“Yes, I know.” +COUNTESS. +This young gentlewoman had a father—O that “had!”, how sad a passage +’tis!—whose skill was almost as great as his honesty; had it stretch’d +so far, would have made nature immortal, and death should have play for +lack of work. Would for the king’s sake he were living! I think it +would be the death of the king’s disease. + +LAFEW. +How called you the man you speak of, madam? + +COUNTESS. +He was famous, sir, in his profession, and it was his great right to be +so: Gerard de Narbon. + +LAFEW. +He was excellent indeed, madam; the king very lately spoke of him +admiringly, and mourningly; he was skilful enough to have liv’d still, +if knowledge could be set up against mortality. + +BERTRAM. +What is it, my good lord, the king languishes of? + +LAFEW. +A fistula, my lord. + +BERTRAM. +I heard not of it before. + +LAFEW. +I would it were not notorious. Was this gentlewoman the daughter of +Gerard de Narbon? + +COUNTESS. +His sole child, my lord, and bequeathed to my overlooking. I have those +hopes of her good that her education promises her dispositions she +inherits, which makes fair gifts fairer; for where an unclean mind +carries virtuous qualities, there commendations go with pity, they are +virtues and traitors too. In her they are the better for their +simpleness; she derives her honesty, and achieves her goodness. + +LAFEW. +Your commendations, madam, get from her tears. + +COUNTESS. +’Tis the best brine a maiden can season her praise in. The remembrance +of her father never approaches her heart but the tyranny of her sorrows +takes all livelihood from her cheek. No more of this, Helena; go to, no +more, lest it be rather thought you affect a sorrow than to have. + +HELENA. +I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too. + +LAFEW. +Moderate lamentation is the right of the dead; excessive grief the +enemy to the living. + +COUNTESS. +If the living be enemy to the grief, the excess makes it soon mortal. + +BERTRAM. +Madam, I desire your holy wishes. + +LAFEW. +How understand we that? + +COUNTESS. +Be thou blest, Bertram, and succeed thy father +In manners, as in shape! Thy blood and virtue +Contend for empire in thee, and thy goodness +Share with thy birthright! Love all, trust a few, +Do wrong to none. Be able for thine enemy +Rather in power than use; and keep thy friend +Under thy own life’s key. Be check’d for silence, +But never tax’d for speech. What heaven more will, +That thee may furnish and my prayers pluck down, +Fall on thy head! Farewell. My lord, +’Tis an unseason’d courtier; good my lord, +Advise him. + +LAFEW. +He cannot want the best +That shall attend his love. + +COUNTESS. +Heaven bless him! Farewell, Bertram. + + [_Exit Countess._] + +BERTRAM. +The best wishes that can be forg’d in your thoughts be servants to you! +[_To Helena._] Be comfortable to my mother, your mistress, and make +much of her. + +LAFEW. +Farewell, pretty lady, you must hold the credit of your father. + + [_Exeunt Bertram and Lafew._] + +HELENA. +O, were that all! I think not on my father, +And these great tears grace his remembrance more +Than those I shed for him. What was he like? +I have forgot him; my imagination +Carries no favour in’t but Bertram’s. +I am undone: there is no living, none, +If Bertram be away. ’Twere all one +That I should love a bright particular star, +And think to wed it, he is so above me. +In his bright radiance and collateral light +Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. +Th’ambition in my love thus plagues itself: +The hind that would be mated by the lion +Must die for love. ’Twas pretty, though a plague, +To see him every hour; to sit and draw +His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls, +In our heart’s table,—heart too capable +Of every line and trick of his sweet favour. +But now he’s gone, and my idolatrous fancy +Must sanctify his relics. Who comes here? + + Enter Parolles. + +One that goes with him: I love him for his sake, +And yet I know him a notorious liar, +Think him a great way fool, solely a coward; +Yet these fix’d evils sit so fit in him +That they take place when virtue’s steely bones +Looks bleak i’ th’ cold wind: withal, full oft we see +Cold wisdom waiting on superfluous folly. + +PAROLLES. +Save you, fair queen! + +HELENA. +And you, monarch! + +PAROLLES. +No. + +HELENA. +And no. + +PAROLLES. +Are you meditating on virginity? + +HELENA. +Ay. You have some stain of soldier in you; let me ask you a question. +Man is enemy to virginity; how may we barricado it against him? + +PAROLLES. +Keep him out. + +HELENA. +But he assails; and our virginity, though valiant, in the defence, yet +is weak. Unfold to us some warlike resistance. + +PAROLLES. +There is none. Man setting down before you will undermine you and blow +you up. + +HELENA. +Bless our poor virginity from underminers and blowers-up! Is there no +military policy how virgins might blow up men? + +PAROLLES. +Virginity being blown down, man will quicklier be blown up; marry, in +blowing him down again, with the breach yourselves made, you lose your +city. It is not politic in the commonwealth of nature to preserve +virginity. Loss of virginity is rational increase, and there was never +virgin got till virginity was first lost. That you were made of is +metal to make virgins. Virginity, by being once lost, may be ten times +found; by being ever kept, it is ever lost. ’Tis too cold a companion. +Away with it! + +HELENA. +I will stand for’t a little, though therefore I die a virgin. + +PAROLLES. +There’s little can be said in’t; ’tis against the rule of nature. To +speak on the part of virginity is to accuse your mothers; which is most +infallible disobedience. He that hangs himself is a virgin: virginity +murders itself, and should be buried in highways out of all sanctified +limit, as a desperate offendress against nature. Virginity breeds +mites, much like a cheese; consumes itself to the very paring, and so +dies with feeding his own stomach. Besides, virginity is peevish, +proud, idle, made of self-love, which is the most inhibited sin in the +canon. Keep it not; you cannot choose but lose by’t. Out with’t! Within +the year it will make itself two, which is a goodly increase, and the +principal itself not much the worse. Away with it! + +HELENA. +How might one do, sir, to lose it to her own liking? + +PAROLLES. +Let me see. Marry, ill, to like him that ne’er it likes. ’Tis a +commodity will lose the gloss with lying; the longer kept, the less +worth. Off with’t while ’tis vendible; answer the time of request. +Virginity, like an old courtier, wears her cap out of fashion, richly +suited, but unsuitable, just like the brooch and the toothpick, which +wear not now. Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in +your cheek. And your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our +French wither’d pears; it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, ’tis a +wither’d pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet ’tis a wither’d pear. +Will you anything with it? + +HELENA. +Not my virginity yet. +There shall your master have a thousand loves, +A mother, and a mistress, and a friend, +A phoenix, captain, and an enemy, +A guide, a goddess, and a sovereign, +A counsellor, a traitress, and a dear: +His humble ambition, proud humility, +His jarring concord, and his discord dulcet, +His faith, his sweet disaster; with a world +Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms +That blinking Cupid gossips. Now shall he— +I know not what he shall. God send him well! +The court’s a learning-place; and he is one. + +PAROLLES. +What one, i’ faith? + +HELENA. +That I wish well. ’Tis pity— + +PAROLLES. +What’s pity? + +HELENA. +That wishing well had not a body in’t +Which might be felt, that we, the poorer born, +Whose baser stars do shut us up in wishes, +Might with effects of them follow our friends, +And show what we alone must think, which never +Returns us thanks. + + Enter a Page. + +PAGE. +Monsieur Parolles, my lord calls for you. + + [_Exit Page._] + +PAROLLES. +Little Helen, farewell. If I can remember thee, I will think of thee at +court. + +HELENA. +Monsieur Parolles, you were born under a charitable star. + +PAROLLES. +Under Mars, I. + +HELENA. +I especially think, under Mars. + +PAROLLES. +Why under Mars? + +HELENA. +The wars hath so kept you under, that you must needs be born under +Mars. + +PAROLLES. +When he was predominant. + +HELENA. +When he was retrograde, I think rather. + +PAROLLES. +Why think you so? + +HELENA. +You go so much backward when you fight. + +PAROLLES. +That’s for advantage. + +HELENA. +So is running away, when fear proposes the safety: but the composition +that your valour and fear makes in you is a virtue of a good wing, and +I like the wear well. + +PAROLLES. +I am so full of business I cannot answer thee acutely. I will return +perfect courtier; in the which my instruction shall serve to naturalize +thee, so thou wilt be capable of a courtier’s counsel, and understand +what advice shall thrust upon thee; else thou diest in thine +unthankfulness, and thine ignorance makes thee away. Farewell. When +thou hast leisure, say thy prayers; when thou hast none, remember thy +friends. Get thee a good husband, and use him as he uses thee. So, +farewell. + + [_Exit._] + +HELENA. +Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, +Which we ascribe to heaven: the fated sky +Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull +Our slow designs when we ourselves are dull. +What power is it which mounts my love so high, +That makes me see, and cannot feed mine eye? +The mightiest space in fortune nature brings +To join like likes, and kiss like native things. +Impossible be strange attempts to those +That weigh their pains in sense, and do suppose +What hath been cannot be. Who ever strove +To show her merit that did miss her love? +The king’s disease,—my project may deceive me, +But my intents are fix’d, and will not leave me. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. + + Flourish of cornets. Enter the King of France, with letters; Lords and + others attending. + +KING. +The Florentines and Senoys are by th’ ears; +Have fought with equal fortune, and continue +A braving war. + +FIRST LORD. +So ’tis reported, sir. + +KING. +Nay, ’tis most credible, we here receive it, +A certainty, vouch’d from our cousin Austria, +With caution, that the Florentine will move us +For speedy aid; wherein our dearest friend +Prejudicates the business, and would seem +To have us make denial. + +FIRST LORD. +His love and wisdom, +Approv’d so to your majesty, may plead +For amplest credence. + +KING. +He hath arm’d our answer, +And Florence is denied before he comes: +Yet, for our gentlemen that mean to see +The Tuscan service, freely have they leave +To stand on either part. + +SECOND LORD. +It well may serve +A nursery to our gentry, who are sick +For breathing and exploit. + +KING. +What’s he comes here? + + Enter Bertram, Lafew and Parolles. + +FIRST LORD. +It is the Count Rossillon, my good lord, +Young Bertram. + +KING. +Youth, thou bear’st thy father’s face; +Frank nature, rather curious than in haste, +Hath well compos’d thee. Thy father’s moral parts +Mayst thou inherit too! Welcome to Paris. + +BERTRAM. +My thanks and duty are your majesty’s. + +KING. +I would I had that corporal soundness now, +As when thy father and myself in friendship +First tried our soldiership. He did look far +Into the service of the time, and was +Discipled of the bravest. He lasted long, +But on us both did haggish age steal on, +And wore us out of act. It much repairs me +To talk of your good father; in his youth +He had the wit which I can well observe +Today in our young lords; but they may jest +Till their own scorn return to them unnoted +Ere they can hide their levity in honour +So like a courtier, contempt nor bitterness +Were in his pride or sharpness; if they were, +His equal had awak’d them, and his honour, +Clock to itself, knew the true minute when +Exception bid him speak, and at this time +His tongue obey’d his hand. Who were below him +He us’d as creatures of another place, +And bow’d his eminent top to their low ranks, +Making them proud of his humility, +In their poor praise he humbled. Such a man +Might be a copy to these younger times; +Which, followed well, would demonstrate them now +But goers backward. + +BERTRAM. +His good remembrance, sir, +Lies richer in your thoughts than on his tomb; +So in approof lives not his epitaph +As in your royal speech. + +KING. +Would I were with him! He would always say,— +Methinks I hear him now; his plausive words +He scatter’d not in ears, but grafted them +To grow there and to bear,—“Let me not live,” +This his good melancholy oft began +On the catastrophe and heel of pastime, +When it was out,—“Let me not live” quoth he, +“After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff +Of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses +All but new things disdain; whose judgments are +Mere fathers of their garments; whose constancies +Expire before their fashions.” This he wish’d. +I, after him, do after him wish too, +Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, +I quickly were dissolved from my hive +To give some labourers room. + +SECOND LORD. +You’re lov’d, sir; +They that least lend it you shall lack you first. + +KING. +I fill a place, I know’t. How long is’t, Count, +Since the physician at your father’s died? +He was much fam’d. + +BERTRAM. +Some six months since, my lord. + +KING. +If he were living, I would try him yet;— +Lend me an arm;—the rest have worn me out +With several applications; nature and sickness +Debate it at their leisure. Welcome, Count; +My son’s no dearer. + +BERTRAM. +Thank your majesty. + + [_Exeunt. Flourish._] + +SCENE III. Rossillon. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Countess, Steward and Clown. + +COUNTESS. +I will now hear. What say you of this gentlewoman? + +STEWARD. +Madam, the care I have had to even your content, I wish might be found +in the calendar of my past endeavours; for then we wound our modesty, +and make foul the clearness of our deservings, when of ourselves we +publish them. + +COUNTESS. +What does this knave here? Get you gone, sirrah. The complaints I have +heard of you I do not all believe; ’tis my slowness that I do not; for +I know you lack not folly to commit them, and have ability enough to +make such knaveries yours. + +CLOWN. +’Tis not unknown to you, madam, I am a poor fellow. + +COUNTESS. +Well, sir. + +CLOWN. +No, madam, ’tis not so well that I am poor, though many of the rich are +damned; but if I may have your ladyship’s good will to go to the world, +Isbel the woman and I will do as we may. + +COUNTESS. +Wilt thou needs be a beggar? + +CLOWN. +I do beg your good will in this case. + +COUNTESS. +In what case? + +CLOWN. +In Isbel’s case and mine own. Service is no heritage, and I think I +shall never have the blessing of God till I have issue of my body; for +they say barnes are blessings. + +COUNTESS. +Tell me thy reason why thou wilt marry. + +CLOWN. +My poor body, madam, requires it; I am driven on by the flesh, and he +must needs go that the devil drives. + +COUNTESS. +Is this all your worship’s reason? + +CLOWN. +Faith, madam, I have other holy reasons, such as they are. + +COUNTESS. +May the world know them? + +CLOWN. +I have been, madam, a wicked creature, as you and all flesh and blood +are; and indeed I do marry that I may repent. + +COUNTESS. +Thy marriage, sooner than thy wickedness. + +CLOWN. +I am out of friends, madam, and I hope to have friends for my wife’s +sake. + +COUNTESS. +Such friends are thine enemies, knave. + +CLOWN. +Y’are shallow, madam, in great friends; for the knaves come to do that +for me which I am a-weary of. He that ears my land spares my team, and +gives me leave to in the crop: if I be his cuckold, he’s my drudge. He +that comforts my wife is the cherisher of my flesh and blood; he that +cherishes my flesh and blood loves my flesh and blood; he that loves my +flesh and blood is my friend; ergo, he that kisses my wife is my +friend. If men could be contented to be what they are, there were no +fear in marriage; for young Charbon the puritan and old Poysam the +papist, howsome’er their hearts are sever’d in religion, their heads +are both one; they may jowl horns together like any deer i’ the herd. + +COUNTESS. +Wilt thou ever be a foul-mouth’d and calumnious knave? + +CLOWN. +A prophet I, madam; and I speak the truth the next way: + _For I the ballad will repeat, + Which men full true shall find; + Your marriage comes by destiny, + Your cuckoo sings by kind._ + +COUNTESS. +Get you gone, sir; I’ll talk with you more anon. + +STEWARD. +May it please you, madam, that he bid Helen come to you; of her I am to +speak. + +COUNTESS. +Sirrah, tell my gentlewoman I would speak with her; Helen I mean. + +CLOWN. +[_Sings._] +_ Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, + Why the Grecians sacked Troy? + Fond done, done fond, + Was this King Priam’s joy? + With that she sighed as she stood, + With that she sighed as she stood, + And gave this sentence then: + Among nine bad if one be good, + Among nine bad if one be good, + There’s yet one good in ten._ + +COUNTESS. +What, one good in ten? You corrupt the song, sirrah. + +CLOWN. +One good woman in ten, madam, which is a purifying o’ the song. Would +God would serve the world so all the year! We’d find no fault with the +tithe-woman, if I were the parson. One in ten, quoth ’a! And we might +have a good woman born but or every blazing star, or at an earthquake, +’twould mend the lottery well; a man may draw his heart out ere he +pluck one. + +COUNTESS. +You’ll be gone, sir knave, and do as I command you! + +CLOWN. +That man should be at woman’s command, and yet no hurt done! Though +honesty be no puritan, yet it will do no hurt; it will wear the +surplice of humility over the black gown of a big heart. I am going, +forsooth; the business is for Helen to come hither. + + [_Exit._] + +COUNTESS. +Well, now. + +STEWARD. +I know, madam, you love your gentlewoman entirely. + +COUNTESS. +Faith I do. Her father bequeath’d her to me, and she herself, without +other advantage, may lawfully make title to as much love as she finds; +there is more owing her than is paid, and more shall be paid her than +she’ll demand. + +STEWARD. +Madam, I was very late more near her than I think she wish’d me; alone +she was, and did communicate to herself her own words to her own ears; +she thought, I dare vow for her, they touch’d not any stranger sense. +Her matter was, she loved your son. Fortune, she said, was no goddess, +that had put such difference betwixt their two estates; Love no god, +that would not extend his might only where qualities were level; Diana +no queen of virgins, that would suffer her poor knight surpris’d, +without rescue in the first assault or ransom afterward. This she +deliver’d in the most bitter touch of sorrow that e’er I heard virgin +exclaim in, which I held my duty speedily to acquaint you withal; +sithence, in the loss that may happen, it concerns you something to +know it. + +COUNTESS. +You have discharg’d this honestly; keep it to yourself; many +likelihoods inform’d me of this before, which hung so tottering in the +balance that I could neither believe nor misdoubt. Pray you leave me; +stall this in your bosom; and I thank you for your honest care. I will +speak with you further anon. + + [_Exit Steward._] + + Enter Helena. + +Even so it was with me when I was young; +If ever we are nature’s, these are ours; this thorn +Doth to our rose of youth rightly belong; +Our blood to us, this to our blood is born; +It is the show and seal of nature’s truth, +Where love’s strong passion is impress’d in youth. +By our remembrances of days foregone, +Such were our faults, or then we thought them none. +Her eye is sick on’t; I observe her now. + +HELENA. +What is your pleasure, madam? + +COUNTESS. +You know, Helen, +I am a mother to you. + +HELENA. +Mine honourable mistress. + +COUNTESS. +Nay, a mother. +Why not a mother? When I said a mother, +Methought you saw a serpent. What’s in mother, +That you start at it? I say I am your mother, +And put you in the catalogue of those +That were enwombed mine. ’Tis often seen +Adoption strives with nature, and choice breeds +A native slip to us from foreign seeds. +You ne’er oppress’d me with a mother’s groan, +Yet I express to you a mother’s care. +God’s mercy, maiden! does it curd thy blood +To say I am thy mother? What’s the matter, +That this distempered messenger of wet, +The many-colour’d Iris, rounds thine eye? +—Why, that you are my daughter? + +HELENA. +That I am not. + +COUNTESS. +I say, I am your mother. + +HELENA. +Pardon, madam; +The Count Rossillon cannot be my brother. +I am from humble, he from honoured name; +No note upon my parents, his all noble, +My master, my dear lord he is; and I +His servant live, and will his vassal die. +He must not be my brother. + +COUNTESS. +Nor I your mother? + +HELENA. +You are my mother, madam; would you were— +So that my lord your son were not my brother,— +Indeed my mother! or were you both our mothers, +I care no more for than I do for heaven, +So I were not his sister. Can’t no other, +But, I your daughter, he must be my brother? + +COUNTESS. +Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law. +God shield you mean it not! daughter and mother +So strive upon your pulse. What! pale again? +My fear hath catch’d your fondness; now I see +The mystery of your loneliness, and find +Your salt tears’ head. Now to all sense ’tis gross +You love my son; invention is asham’d, +Against the proclamation of thy passion +To say thou dost not. Therefore tell me true; +But tell me then, ’tis so; for, look, thy cheeks +Confess it, t’one to th’other; and thine eyes +See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, +That in their kind they speak it; only sin +And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, +That truth should be suspected. Speak, is’t so? +If it be so, you have wound a goodly clew; +If it be not, forswear’t: howe’er, I charge thee, +As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, +To tell me truly. + +HELENA. +Good madam, pardon me. + +COUNTESS. +Do you love my son? + +HELENA. +Your pardon, noble mistress. + +COUNTESS. +Love you my son? + +HELENA. +Do not you love him, madam? + +COUNTESS. +Go not about; my love hath in’t a bond +Whereof the world takes note. Come, come, disclose +The state of your affection, for your passions +Have to the full appeach’d. + +HELENA. +Then I confess, +Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, +That before you, and next unto high heaven, +I love your son. +My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love. +Be not offended; for it hurts not him +That he is lov’d of me; I follow him not +By any token of presumptuous suit, +Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; +Yet never know how that desert should be. +I know I love in vain, strive against hope; +Yet in this captious and inteemable sieve +I still pour in the waters of my love +And lack not to lose still. Thus, Indian-like, +Religious in mine error, I adore +The sun that looks upon his worshipper, +But knows of him no more. My dearest madam, +Let not your hate encounter with my love, +For loving where you do; but if yourself, +Whose aged honour cites a virtuous youth, +Did ever, in so true a flame of liking, +Wish chastely, and love dearly, that your Dian +Was both herself and love; O then, give pity +To her whose state is such that cannot choose +But lend and give where she is sure to lose; +That seeks not to find that her search implies, +But riddle-like, lives sweetly where she dies! + +COUNTESS. +Had you not lately an intent,—speak truly,— +To go to Paris? + +HELENA. +Madam, I had. + +COUNTESS. +Wherefore? tell true. + +HELENA. +I will tell truth; by grace itself I swear. +You know my father left me some prescriptions +Of rare and prov’d effects, such as his reading +And manifest experience had collected +For general sovereignty; and that he will’d me +In heedfull’st reservation to bestow them, +As notes whose faculties inclusive were +More than they were in note. Amongst the rest +There is a remedy, approv’d, set down, +To cure the desperate languishings whereof +The king is render’d lost. + +COUNTESS. +This was your motive +For Paris, was it? Speak. + +HELENA. +My lord your son made me to think of this; +Else Paris, and the medicine, and the king, +Had from the conversation of my thoughts +Haply been absent then. + +COUNTESS. +But think you, Helen, +If you should tender your supposed aid, +He would receive it? He and his physicians +Are of a mind; he, that they cannot help him; +They, that they cannot help. How shall they credit +A poor unlearned virgin, when the schools, +Embowell’d of their doctrine, have let off +The danger to itself? + +HELENA. +There’s something in’t +More than my father’s skill, which was the great’st +Of his profession, that his good receipt +Shall for my legacy be sanctified +By th’ luckiest stars in heaven; and would your honour +But give me leave to try success, I’d venture +The well-lost life of mine on his grace’s cure. +By such a day, an hour. + +COUNTESS. +Dost thou believe’t? + +HELENA. +Ay, madam, knowingly. + +COUNTESS. +Why, Helen, thou shalt have my leave and love, +Means and attendants, and my loving greetings +To those of mine in court. I’ll stay at home, +And pray God’s blessing into thy attempt. +Be gone tomorrow; and be sure of this, +What I can help thee to, thou shalt not miss. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT II. + +SCENE I. Paris. A room in the King’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter the King with young Lords taking leave for the + Florentine war; Bertram, Parolles and Attendants. + +KING. +Farewell, young lords; these warlike principles +Do not throw from you; and you, my lords, farewell; +Share the advice betwixt you; if both gain all, +The gift doth stretch itself as ’tis receiv’d, +And is enough for both. + +FIRST LORD. +’Tis our hope, sir, +After well-ent’red soldiers, to return +And find your grace in health. + +KING. +No, no, it cannot be; and yet my heart +Will not confess he owes the malady +That doth my life besiege. Farewell, young lords. +Whether I live or die, be you the sons +Of worthy Frenchmen; let higher Italy,— +Those bated that inherit but the fall +Of the last monarchy—see that you come +Not to woo honour, but to wed it, when +The bravest questant shrinks: find what you seek, +That fame may cry you loud. I say farewell. + +SECOND LORD. +Health, at your bidding serve your majesty! + +KING. +Those girls of Italy, take heed of them; +They say our French lack language to deny +If they demand; beware of being captives +Before you serve. + +BOTH. +Our hearts receive your warnings. + +KING. +Farewell.—Come hither to me. + + [_The King retires to a couch._] + +FIRST LORD. +O my sweet lord, that you will stay behind us! -“You know, do you? Were you listening?” +PAROLLES. +’Tis not his fault; the spark. -“Through my long-distance telephone.” +SECOND LORD. +O, ’tis brave wars! -“Brilliant invention, the telephone,” I observed. “Did you inspire the -invention?” +PAROLLES. +Most admirable! I have seen those wars. + +BERTRAM. +I am commanded here, and kept a coil with, +“Too young”, and “the next year” and “’tis too early”. + +PAROLLES. +An thy mind stand to’t, boy, steal away bravely. -“I? Oh, no! I worked against it.” +BERTRAM. +I shall stay here the forehorse to a smock, +Creaking my shoes on the plain masonry, +Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn +But one to dance with. By heaven, I’ll steal away. -“And why?” +FIRST LORD. +There’s honour in the theft. + +PAROLLES. +Commit it, count. -“It is not well that man should know too much.” +SECOND LORD. +I am your accessary; and so farewell. -“But when man makes discoveries, notwithstanding your efforts to hinder -him, you attempt to use those discoveries against him, do you not?” +BERTRAM. +I grow to you, and our parting is a tortur’d body. -“Of course.” +FIRST LORD. +Farewell, captain. -“You interest me,” I said. “And were you interested by my conversation -with the soul of Friedrich Nietzsche?” +SECOND LORD. +Sweet Monsieur Parolles! -“More interested than you can imagine, until I tell you why.” +PAROLLES. +Noble heroes, my sword and yours are kin. Good sparks and lustrous, a +word, good metals. You shall find in the regiment of the Spinii one +Captain Spurio, with his cicatrice, an emblem of war, here on his +sinister cheek; it was this very sword entrench’d it. Say to him I +live; and observe his reports for me. -“And you will tell me why?” +FIRST LORD. +We shall, noble captain. -“There is no reason for my not telling you. I am frank with those who -see through me.” +PAROLLES. +Mars dote on you for his novices! -“Why don’t you teach that to the Germans?” + [_Exeunt Lords._] + +What will ye do? + +BERTRAM. +Stay the king. -“Because it would spoil my game. I want to destroy them after I have -used them, and if they should turn frank, they would be so thorough in -their frankness that they would disarm the indignant world.” +PAROLLES. +Use a more spacious ceremony to the noble lords; you have restrain’d +yourself within the list of too cold an adieu. Be more expressive to +them; for they wear themselves in the cap of the time; there do muster +true gait; eat, speak, and move, under the influence of the most +receiv’d star; and though the devil lead the measure, such are to be +followed. After them, and take a more dilated farewell. -“They are frank enough in their brutality,” I said. +BERTRAM. +And I will do so. -“Oh, yes! But that is another matter. Should they be frank in their -repentance, the world would forgive them.” +PAROLLES. +Worthy fellows, and like to prove most sinewy sword-men. -“But what of Nietzsche?” I questioned. + [_Exeunt Bertram and Parolles._] -“Only this, that it was I who inspired him.” + Enter Lafew. -“You did your work thoroughly.” +LAFEW. +Pardon, my lord [_kneeling_], for me and for my tidings. -“I do my work as thoroughly as it can be done.” +KING. +I’ll fee thee to stand up. -“Tell me more,” I urged. +LAFEW. +Then here’s a man stands that has brought his pardon. +I would you had kneel’d, my lord, to ask me mercy, +And that at my bidding you could so stand up. -“What a worker was lost in you,” he exclaimed, “when you chose good for -your standard!” - -“But I am an excellent worker,” I insisted. “I have even balked some of -your work.” - -He laughed, a quick, sharp laugh. - -“Don’t think that I care too much for that,” he said. “There is more -than one road for me. If you block the door, I can go in by the window.” - -“And how did you go in to Nietzsche?” - -“Sometimes by one way, sometimes by another. He only locked his door -against man, and you see I also am Beyond Man.” - -“I perceived that at our first meeting. He who goes beyond man must -make the choice between good and evil.” - -“There is no fooling you,” he said, “and so I no longer try. Yes, it -was I who inspired Nietzsche to preach Beyond Man to the Germans, who -could only choose evil when they believed themselves strong.” - -“And what do you get out of it?” - -For answer, he asked a question: - -“Did you ever play chess?” - -“Often, in many lives,” I answered. - -“Did you have an interest in the game?” - -“A great interest.” - -“Did you play for stakes?” - -“No.” - -“Then what interested you?” - -“Why, the game.” - -“Of course,” he said. “That is how I enjoy my game. I play to win, if I -can. When I do not win, I have had the pleasure of the game.” - -“And you played with that great man’s soul?” - -“As a cat plays with a mouse. I found in him an earnest spirit, with a -sore spot in his head and in his heart. He was an easy one.” - -“How did you go about it?” - -“By the usual method.” - -“And that is?” - -“Flattery.” - -“And he did not smell a rat?” - -“The rats were perfumed. He is an aesthete.” - -“Do you always perfume the rats?” - -“It isn’t always necessary. I perfumed yours.” - -“Yes,” I said, “with the patchouli of peace. But I have a keen scent.” - -“Yes, the Others have taught you too well.” - -“Did Nietzsche ever see you as I see you?” - -“He saw my distinguished face, and he felt the thrill of my power, and -he envied and desired to be like me. It is great sport when these -earnest mortals are ambitious to emulate me!” - -“And so you taught him Beyond Man?” - -“Yes, and I taught him to despise the One who was really Beyond Man.” - -“Then you are not really Beyond Man yourself?” - -“My head is. My other members are nearer the earth.” - -“Notwithstanding the dignity of your presence?” - -“Oh, there is a dignity in the earth and in what belongs to the earth!” - -“Did the German philosopher ever know you for what you are?” - -“Yes, toward the end, but then it was too late to undo my work.” - -“Then also at the end,” I exclaimed, “he saw the two forms of Beyond -Man, you and the Christ!” - -“Yes, he saw. The seeing drove him mad.” - -“And you have no remorse for your work?” - -“Remorse? What is that?” - -“Remorse is an emotion which men feel when they are conscious of having -done evil.” - -“An emotion that _men_ feel,” he repeated. “But I only feel those -emotions of men which give me pleasure in the feeling.” - -“Such as----” - -“You are really too curious and inquisitive!” - -“Granted, my curiosity and my inquisitiveness,” I said. “But it -interests me, this labor of a lifetime, a man’s lifetime, to make him -an instrument through which _all this_ could be produced,” and I -indicated by a gesture the battle line beneath us. - -His eyes were brilliant with fire as he answered: - -“What is the lifetime of a man in comparison to the glory of all this? -One might labor a thousand years and produce nothing in comparison with -this!” - -“It pleases you then, this slaughter?” - -“What a trifling question! It gratifies me, glorifies me, exalts -me--all this carnage of battle brought forth by me and my kind.” - -“And did you have all this in mind while you were preparing one man to -corrupt a nation by his writings?” - -“Yes. He was the one perfect instrument. None other could have served -our purpose so well--ambitious, dissatisfied, aristocratic, arrogant, -unloving in the broader sense, capable of infatuation and hence of -disenchantment, and last but not least, with eyes open to the vision.” - -“The vision of you?” - -“Yes. He saw me first in dreams, and admired me, and desired to emulate -me.” - -“And then you spoke to him of Beyond Man?” - -“Yes, and I used the old arguments that women were of small account; -that the love of woman stood in man’s way; that woman enslaved man -unless he enslaved her; that Nature was the devil, not the Great -Mother, and so was to be combatted as far as possible; that man rose to -Beyond Man by denying all that could influence him, including Nature, -and by asserting whatever gave him freedom, such as his own superiority -to all other beings, his mastery of them, his mastery of his own -thought, his mastery of good and evil, of fact and falsehood.” - -“A fine _combination_ of fact and falsehood, that teaching of -yours,” I said. - -“Of course,” he answered; “but what would you? Truth alone could never -have produced this.” And he swept with his long arm the line of battle -beneath us. - -“And what else did you teach your chosen disciple?” I asked. - -“I taught him all that he taught the world. Whenever he drove a woman’s -face from his heart, I scored a point and he thought himself nearer -Beyond Man. Whenever he swelled with pride and superiority, I scored -a point and he felt himself nearer Beyond Man. Whenever he read the -Gospels and sneered to himself at the humility of the so-called Son of -Man, I scored two points--one against him and one against your Christ.” - -“Thank you,” I said, “for enrolling me with the followers of the -Crucified One. I am such a follower.” - -He ignored my last remark, and proceeded: - -“I encouraged his wish to produce a new ideal of a leader, a new -Christ, an Antichrist, a hard-faced German Christ, who should not win -men by love and compassion, but by cruelty and hardening. Oh, I have -done that work well! Many a German has exalted my ideal to the place of -the Son of Mary. Many a German has put me in place of the Sun-God, and -hailed me as Beyond Man, though he was too cowardly to hail me frankly -_as_ Antichrist. Instead, he added my attributes to Christ and -called us by one name, and by that name he sought to destroy all pity -and compassion, both in himself and in others, sought to destroy all -love that stood in the way of his becoming like me. It was I who taught -him to exalt the cross as a symbol of cruelty, of sacrifice _to_ -himself, and not _of_ himself for the love of man.” - -He paused, and gazed out toward the stars that shone serenely above us. - -“You seem to me,” I said, “to be yourself conscious of the superiority -of Christ to Antichrist.” - -Again he ignored my remark, and continued the line of his own thought. - -“What intellectual pleasure it has given me, this transforming of a -Christian nation into monsters of egotism and cruelty to all things -_not their own_! The foreigner was to be hated, despised, used, -ridiculed, and whenever possible insulted. I taught them that such were -the ways of Beyond Man, that so was man surpassed.” - -“But why do you tell all this to me?” I asked. “Why do you thus lay -your cards upon the table, when you know that I hold a better hand?” - -The eyes he turned to me were smouldering lakes of flame. - -“Because I envy you,” he said. - -“Is that some new and more subtle attack upon me and the principles I -stand for?” - -The dark one laughed again, his sharp and mirthless laughter. - -“Frankly, no,” he said. “You no longer amuse me as an opponent.” - -“Which means----” - -“That I throw up the game in weariness--this is, for the present. -Already the souls I deluded are weary of me and my teaching. They have -seen a new light--some of them.” - -“Perhaps,” I said, “they have seen the light of the Christ, the true -Beyond Man.” - -“Perhaps,” he repeated. - -“And have you seen it, too?” - -“Faugh!” he said. “Are you ambitious to convert the devil?” - -“Ah, no!” - -Suddenly he turned to me: - -“Will you take me for a pupil?” - -“Again, no,” I answered. “You will make that request of some good -woman, with a better chance of deceiving her.” - -“So you know all the tricks?” - -“My Teacher has taught me much regarding the ways of your kind.” - -“Then I bid you good evening,” he said, and disappeared in the darkness. - - -World for which I write, I am telling you these things that you may -be armored with knowledge. When Satan asks you to convert him, beware -lest he convert you. When Satan points to Beyond Man, even to Christ, -be sure that his Christ is not Antichrist; be sure He is full of -compassion, that His heart bleeds for the woes and _weakness_ of -the world, that His crown of thorns is the mark of His sacrifice for -man, and not merely a becoming ornament. For, as He said: - -“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love -one to another.” - -And also: - -“Take heed that no man deceive you. For many shall come in my name, -saying, I am Christ, and shall deceive many, * * * for there shall -arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall show great signs and -wonders, insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the -very elect.” - - _June 2._ - - - - - LETTER XLVII - - THE NEW BROTHERHOOD - - -I WANT to speak of the new race, the coming race. The world is big with -child, and the present generation will look with wonder into the clear -eyes of the infant that shall redeem its parent. - -Pin your faith to the standard of the new race, work for it, make the -garments that it shall wear, and be ready for its coming. - -Already you are in touch with those who will help in its training, who -will be its teachers and guides. Give yourself also to the Great Work -that is planned for America in the coming days. No, you need not spend -all your time there; but do not remain away too long. Come and go, that -going away you may receive new impressions, and that coming back you -may bring the romance of older lands to entertain and inspire the new -land. - -But be ever loyal to the new. - -In the untrodden wilderness of America there is strength that shall -renew you from time to time. The cities of America will be redeemed by -the wilderness. The cities are too worldly. They have forgotten God. In -the open air, under the open sky, the message may be received by the -awakened soul. - -Send the children out to the wilderness to drink from the -uncontaminated springs. The water that flows through lead pipes may -refresh the body; but the water of mountain springs refreshes the soul. - -Behind the veil of Nature is the face of the Great Mother, and -though she does not always smile, yet her eyes are full of dreams -and mysteries. Nature is _not_ the devil. The devil is ever at -war with Nature. Nature is Isis, the Mother. Do not listen to the -blasphemers. They have confused the offices of Isis and of Typhon. It -is Isis, Nature, which shall bring forth Horus. Go back to Nature and -ask her for her message. She waits in the silence of the woods, and the -voice of the brook is her whisper; when the wind stirs in the trees it -is the rustling of her garments. The Mother is coming, O children of -the new race! In her arms you shall know refreshing rest, and in her -eyes shall you read the love that knows no selfishness, the bliss of -self-giving. - -Too long have you dwelt in cities, forgetting the Mother who bore you. -Too long have you lived without the magnetism of the kind earth in -contact with your naked feet. Too long have you trodden the dead, stony -and unmagnetic streets, that take from you but give nothing. Go back to -the woods and the streams. Read your destiny in the eyes of the stars -themselves--not merely on a printed chart. Jupiter has a message for -you which he will give only face to face, and so has the gentle Venus -and the eager Mars. Go to them for your lessons, in the quiet of the -hill-top alone with the Mother. - -Do not set up your temple in the market-place. Let your cathedral be -the aisles of the forest. - -Go to the city when you must, for it is always well to know the -opposite. The cathedral is stiller after the voice of the mart. - -Give honor where honor is due, to those who have led the children -forth to learn the mysteries of the primeval life. You grown-ups are -only taller children. Dance in a ring round the mulberry bush or round -the camp-fire. In the smell of burning wood the visions may come, as -I wrote you once before of your wood-fires in Paris. But what is a -wood-fire in a Paris grate compared with a camp-fire in the woods? Yes, -I was there the other night, on the outskirts of the gathering, and I -enjoyed it, too. - -My greetings to the Chief! - -The salvation of America lies in this wild-wood movement. Movement! -Well may you call it that. It is stirred by the very forces of the -earth herself; it is inspired by the race-spirit; it will go on and on, -in ever-widening circles. - -Whoever puts a stone in the way of this work will stumble over it -himself. Whoever brings Satanism into this movement will be devoured by -the demonic forces. There will not be enough left of him to grease two -sticks for the camp-fire. - -Rest you in peace. _We_ watch, and with us the souls of all the -thousands and tens of thousands and millions of native Americans, who -cannot go on to their rest until they have passed on the torch of the -Nature mysteries that were their heritage from their remote ancestors. - -They may be despised by those who despoiled them; but their forgiveness -shall redeem you, O America of the new race! - -Do you not know that many of those who made their escape into the rest -of the “happy hunting ground” are already coming back to incarnation in -the land they loved before? Look at the high cheek-bones of many of the -children, look at the eagle eyes and the straight taut forms. - -O America, you did a great wrong once in the pursuit of your destiny! -Yes, you did. Now strive to atone. Let the reincarnated red children -play in the wild woods, teach them the old code of honor and courage, -and they will work hand in hand with the reincarnated souls that -came by way of Europe, hand in hand shall they stand together in the -_Woodcraft Brotherhood_. - -My salutations to the Chief! - - _July 9._ - - - - - LETTER XLVIII - - IN THE CRUCIBLE - - -I AM still profoundly interested in the land that gave me birth. There -are dark days ahead for her, and the great soul of Abraham Lincoln is -very near to the helm of State at this moment, when peace and war hang -in the balance and the action of a day may decide the question. - -No irreparable injury must overtake this land. It is the great pioneer -of race freedom. As I told you months ago, one of America’s hands -threatens the other, and both threaten the whole body. - -May she keep peace so long as she can have peace with honor! But if the -dark day comes, may she face it with squared shoulders; and if her foes -be also those of her own household, it will not be the first time. A -man once prayed to be saved from his friends, declaring that he could -deal with his enemies himself. - -The stillness of the Germans in America at this moment is potent with -danger. If the hour comes when drastic action is necessary, they should -be invited to return into the fold of their naturalization, and those -who refuse should be dealt with severely, even to deportation. There -yet remains one country which might receive them for transportation to -that Fatherland they left--in quest of the freedom which they have now -abused and betrayed. - -The world is in the crucible, and Satan is in the laboratory with all -his cohorts. Our labor is to stand. It is not always easy to stand -steady. - -Be calm, and trust in the Motherland that shall yet give birth to the -new race, the synthesis of races. - - - - - LETTER XLIX - - BLACK MAGIC IN AMERICA - - -YOU have seen pretty clearly the methods employed by the evil forces to -balk progress, to destroy the work of centuries, to destroy the workers -for the future, and to frighten away those who seek to interfere with -this maliciousness. - -Notice that none of this is constructive work. It is all destructive, -all tearing down. Wars of construction have been engineered by angels; -but this is not a war of construction. - -Now let me tell you a few of the things against which the new race -in America will have to guard itself. As always where the forces of -progress are strong, the opposition is strong. I have written enough -about the good influences of this new birth; but I want to give a -few warnings, to analyze a few influences which are of a destructive -character. - -There is developing in America a great group of people who seek to gain -control of the desire-nature and the will of others, that they may use -them for their own purposes. These people are not all in one place, -they are not organized into one body but into many bodies, and some of -them are working quite independently. But in the astral world, and in -the language of us who work in that world, they are known as a “group.” - -They teach to those who will pay them, either in money or in service, -certain rules for controlling the mind of self and of others. They -teach the rudiments of astral knowledge to the many, and they teach -more advanced principles to the few. Some of their teachings are true, -some of their teachings are false; but there are few among them who -undertake any real discipline of character with their students. As one -profound teacher has said, for every step in psychic development, three -steps should be taken in the development of character. - -I need not name those who are most criminally active in teaching the -formulas of black magic to men and women who are utterly unfit to be -trusted with that knowledge. - -The question will naturally arise in the mind of the reader, What -_is_ black magic? I think I have given a similar definition -before, but you may restate it thus: - -Black magic is an attempt to gain control over the will or the astral -or the mind of one’s fellows, through means other than the normal -physical or the legitimate mental influence by word or pen; be it -through the use of the elementals of nature, artificial elementals, or -one’s own mental or elemental nature. - -Black magic may be deliberately used to influence, or black magic -may be deliberately used to injure; and its votaries often employ -_the substances of the body of the victim_, through which to gain -sympathetic control of his astral and etheric nature. - -I want to say to those who think it smart or amusing to fool with -these things: Beware of any man or of any woman who by _normal or -abnormal means_ seeks to get possession of the fluids of your body, -especially the blood and the other vital fluids. - -I shall not go into detail here. Those who accept my warning owe me no -thanks; those who disregard my warning do so at their own peril. - -It gives me no amusement thus to thrust myself between the evil forces -and their victims. By so doing I draw down upon myself the rage of -those forces that I thwart so far as I can. - -Be it so! I am competent to deal with them. And I want here to notify -anyone who thinks to destroy my work, or to destroy those who with -self-abnegation and selfless courage are helping me in the work of -trying to save my country from the forces of hell which are now -ravaging Europe--I want to notify any evil magician who is interested -in this matter, that if he gets in the way of my resolve it will be he -who will suffer and not I. - -The ring which I and the Masters behind me draw round our workers can -be passed with evil intent only at the peril of the one who passes. - -This is no threat to use evil magic. We do not use evil magic. But we -know how to deflect a malicious current from its chosen victim, so that -it returns with overwhelming force upon its own source. - -And I also want to say to those who in their ignorance or wantonness -allow themselves to be used as catspaws to draw the devil’s chestnuts -from the fire, that fire will burn, and that the devil’s hot chestnuts -stick to the fingers. - -This is an unpleasant subject. I will now leave it. - - -Let me talk to those who are ignorant of these matters, and most people -are ignorant--even those who have “studied psychism.” - -Many an innocent (or half-innocent) soul has been driven nearly insane -by the pressure of the evil thoughts of others, by the will-driven -thoughts of others. - -Let me advise such not further to weaken themselves by fear, but to -strengthen themselves by prayer. - -I have said that there is a god and a devil in every one of you. Turn -to the god for protection from the devil. If there were no devil in -you, the devils of others could not harm you. Remember that. - -Set your own devil to serve your own god. - -If you want to use signs and symbols, meditate on the cross of Christ. -The cross of Christ is profound enough for a lifetime’s meditation. - -Do not use evil magic to protect yourself against evil magic. Call on -the god within to send evil back to its source. - -Protect yourself before sleep by prayer to your god for protection. The -evil workers can sometimes reach your soul in sleep when they cannot -reach you while awake. The child’s prayer, “Now I lay me down to sleep, -I pray the Lord my soul to keep,” is more potent than a magician’s -spells. - -Childish, you say? Yes, but I am writing now for those who are children -in these things, be they seven or seventy. - -Of all countries on earth, America is the most abysmally ignorant of -the dangers of evil magic. Be willing to be children until you acquire -adult knowledge of these subjects. - -“I am in no danger, for I understand these things,” is often said with -self-gratulation by these who are in the very grip of the evil forces. -Truly, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing. - - -If you want an added protection, my children, guard your own evil -passions and resentful thoughts, your jealous emotions and unkind -criticism of others. The devils ride on waves of anger and resentment. - -Beware also of temptations, remembering that young souls are tempted -through their faults, greater souls through their virtues. - -Be not deceived into saying there is no evil. Evil is--so long as good -is. - -“Beyond good and evil” is a state to which few of you can aspire, and -you have no conception of it. But “beyond good and evil” is a mighty -slogan for the temptation and bewilderment of vain souls. - -When you are really beyond good and evil you will not gossip about your -neighbors, nor envy them their charm or their possessions, nor try to -use them for your own ends, nor worry lest some evil person shall do -you harm, nor twist your faults till they seem virtues, nor deceive -yourself as to your motives. - -Examine yourselves, my children. Look for your faults. If you can find -no fault in yourself, hang your harp on the nearest willow, for your -progress is at an end. - -Man progresses through recognizing his faults, through transmuting them -and transcending them. If you are perfect, this world is no place for -you. - -“Beyond good and evil,” indeed! - -Judge not, that ye be not judged. But do not flirt with the devil to -prove that you judge him not. - -Yes, all men are your brothers, even bad men. Attend to your own -affairs, and leave the issue with God. - -This much to you, dear children of the world, from my vantage place -above your passions. - - _July 25._ - - - - - LETTER L - - THINGS TO REMEMBER - - -THAT the contents of this book may become the possession of those who -want it, I will now bring it to a close. - -One might go on writing forever about the astral incidents of this war, -and not exhaust the subject. What I have been able to give is a mere -sketch, a few incidents, a few suggestions. - -These things, however, bear in mind: - -That there are angels as well as devils in the neighborhood of the -battlefields. - -That those who see the war from above see causes as well as effects, -and from those causes can draw sane conclusions based on a richer fund -of data than that available to the men of earth. - -That war, like everything else, has its rhythms. Do not be discouraged -when the pressure of battle bears heavily on the side that you call -yours. If your side went forward too quickly, you would need to look -for a violent reaction, as in the retreat from the outskirts of Paris. - -That though evil is a necessity so long as good exists, though evil is -the other pole of the magnet, yet it is the duty of those who desire -to walk the White Road ever to do battle for the right. And this is no -repudiation of the saying of the Christ, “Resist not evil.” A paradox, -you say? Great wisdom is locked in paradoxes, for those who have the -key. The existence of evil gives greater strength to good. This is the -Kali Yuga, as the Hindoos say. - -That this war is an attempt of the personal evil forces to destroy -mankind. A former attempt was made in Europe before the so-called Dark -Ages, but the Renaissance followed and restored the balance. - -That man has in himself both the Christ principle and the demonic -principle; that will is free, and that man can make his choice between +KING. +I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, +And ask’d thee mercy for’t. + +LAFEW. +Good faith, across; +But, my good lord, ’tis thus: will you be cur’d +Of your infirmity? + +KING. +No. + +LAFEW. +O, will you eat +No grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will +My noble grapes, and if my royal fox +Could reach them. I have seen a medicine +That’s able to breathe life into a stone, +Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary +With sprightly fire and motion; whose simple touch +Is powerful to araise King Pippen, nay, +To give great Charlemain a pen in’s hand +And write to her a love-line. + +KING. +What ‘her’ is this? + +LAFEW. +Why, doctor ‘she’! My lord, there’s one arriv’d, +If you will see her. Now, by my faith and honour, +If seriously I may convey my thoughts +In this my light deliverance, I have spoke +With one that in her sex, her years, profession, +Wisdom, and constancy, hath amaz’d me more +Than I dare blame my weakness. Will you see her, +For that is her demand, and know her business? +That done, laugh well at me. + +KING. +Now, good Lafew, +Bring in the admiration; that we with thee +May spend our wonder too, or take off thine +By wond’ring how thou took’st it. + +LAFEW. +Nay, I’ll fit you, +And not be all day neither. + + [_Exit Lafew._] + +KING. +Thus he his special nothing ever prologues. + + Enter Lafew with Helena. + +LAFEW. +Nay, come your ways. + +KING. +This haste hath wings indeed. + +LAFEW. +Nay, come your ways. +This is his majesty, say your mind to him. +A traitor you do look like, but such traitors +His majesty seldom fears; I am Cressid’s uncle, +That dare leave two together. Fare you well. + + [_Exit._] + +KING. +Now, fair one, does your business follow us? + +HELENA. +Ay, my good lord. +Gerard de Narbon was my father, +In what he did profess, well found. + +KING. +I knew him. + +HELENA. +The rather will I spare my praises towards him. +Knowing him is enough. On his bed of death +Many receipts he gave me; chiefly one, +Which, as the dearest issue of his practice, +And of his old experience the only darling, +He bade me store up as a triple eye, +Safer than mine own two; more dear I have so, +And hearing your high majesty is touch’d +With that malignant cause, wherein the honour +Of my dear father’s gift stands chief in power, +I come to tender it, and my appliance, +With all bound humbleness. + +KING. +We thank you, maiden, +But may not be so credulous of cure, +When our most learned doctors leave us, and +The congregated college have concluded +That labouring art can never ransom nature +From her inaidable estate. I say we must not +So stain our judgment, or corrupt our hope, +To prostitute our past-cure malady +To empirics, or to dissever so +Our great self and our credit, to esteem +A senseless help, when help past sense we deem. + +HELENA. +My duty then shall pay me for my pains. +I will no more enforce mine office on you, +Humbly entreating from your royal thoughts +A modest one to bear me back again. + +KING. +I cannot give thee less, to be call’d grateful. +Thou thought’st to help me; and such thanks I give +As one near death to those that wish him live. +But what at full I know, thou know’st no part; +I knowing all my peril, thou no art. + +HELENA. +What I can do can do no hurt to try, +Since you set up your rest ’gainst remedy. +He that of greatest works is finisher +Oft does them by the weakest minister. +So holy writ in babes hath judgment shown, +When judges have been babes. Great floods have flown +From simple sources, and great seas have dried +When miracles have by the great’st been denied. +Oft expectation fails, and most oft there +Where most it promises; and oft it hits +Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits. + +KING. +I must not hear thee. Fare thee well, kind maid. +Thy pains, not us’d, must by thyself be paid; +Proffers, not took, reap thanks for their reward. + +HELENA. +Inspired merit so by breath is barr’d. +It is not so with Him that all things knows +As ’tis with us that square our guess by shows; +But most it is presumption in us when +The help of heaven we count the act of men. +Dear sir, to my endeavours give consent; +Of heaven, not me, make an experiment. +I am not an impostor, that proclaim +Myself against the level of mine aim, +But know I think, and think I know most sure, +My art is not past power nor you past cure. + +KING. +Art thou so confident? Within what space +Hop’st thou my cure? + +HELENA. +The greatest grace lending grace. +Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring +Their fiery torcher his diurnal ring, +Ere twice in murk and occidental damp +Moist Hesperus hath quench’d her sleepy lamp; +Or four and twenty times the pilot’s glass +Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass; +What is infirm from your sound parts shall fly, +Health shall live free, and sickness freely die. + +KING. +Upon thy certainty and confidence +What dar’st thou venture? + +HELENA. +Tax of impudence, +A strumpet’s boldness, a divulged shame, +Traduc’d by odious ballads; my maiden’s name +Sear’d otherwise; nay worse of worst extended +With vilest torture, let my life be ended. + +KING. +Methinks in thee some blessed spirit doth speak +His powerful sound within an organ weak; +And what impossibility would slay +In common sense, sense saves another way. +Thy life is dear, for all that life can rate +Worth name of life in thee hath estimate: +Youth, beauty, wisdom, courage, all +That happiness and prime can happy call. +Thou this to hazard needs must intimate +Skill infinite, or monstrous desperate. +Sweet practiser, thy physic I will try, +That ministers thine own death if I die. + +HELENA. +If I break time, or flinch in property +Of what I spoke, unpitied let me die, +And well deserv’d. Not helping, death’s my fee; +But if I help, what do you promise me? + +KING. +Make thy demand. + +HELENA. +But will you make it even? + +KING. +Ay, by my sceptre and my hopes of heaven. + +HELENA. +Then shalt thou give me, with thy kingly hand +What husband in thy power I will command: +Exempted be from me the arrogance +To choose from forth the royal blood of France, +My low and humble name to propagate +With any branch or image of thy state; +But such a one, thy vassal, whom I know +Is free for me to ask, thee to bestow. + +KING. +Here is my hand; the premises observ’d, +Thy will by my performance shall be serv’d; +So make the choice of thy own time, for I, +Thy resolv’d patient, on thee still rely. +More should I question thee, and more I must, +Though more to know could not be more to trust: +From whence thou cam’st, how tended on; but rest +Unquestion’d welcome, and undoubted bless’d. +Give me some help here, ho! If thou proceed +As high as word, my deed shall match thy deed. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Countess and Clown. + +COUNTESS. +Come on, sir; I shall now put you to the height of your breeding. + +CLOWN. +I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught. I know my business is +but to the court. + +COUNTESS. +To the court! Why, what place make you special, when you put off that +with such contempt? But to the court! + +CLOWN. +Truly, madam, if God have lent a man any manners, he may easily put it +off at court: he that cannot make a leg, put off’s cap, kiss his hand, +and say nothing, has neither leg, hands, lip, nor cap; and indeed such +a fellow, to say precisely, were not for the court; but for me, I have +an answer will serve all men. + +COUNTESS. +Marry, that’s a bountiful answer that fits all questions. + +CLOWN. +It is like a barber’s chair, that fits all buttocks—the pin-buttock, +the quatch-buttock, the brawn-buttock, or any buttock. + +COUNTESS. +Will your answer serve fit to all questions? + +CLOWN. +As fit as ten groats is for the hand of an attorney, as your French +crown for your taffety punk, as Tib’s rush for Tom’s forefinger, as a +pancake for Shrove-Tuesday, a morris for May-day, as the nail to his +hole, the cuckold to his horn, as a scolding quean to a wrangling +knave, as the nun’s lip to the friar’s mouth; nay, as the pudding to +his skin. + +COUNTESS. +Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all questions? + +CLOWN. +From below your duke to beneath your constable, it will fit any +question. + +COUNTESS. +It must be an answer of most monstrous size that must fit all demands. + +CLOWN. +But a trifle neither, in good faith, if the learned should speak truth +of it. Here it is, and all that belongs to’t. Ask me if I am a +courtier; it shall do you no harm to learn. + +COUNTESS. +To be young again, if we could: I will be a fool in question, hoping to +be the wiser by your answer. I pray you, sir, are you a courtier? + +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! There’s a simple putting off. More, more, a hundred of them. -That new races are born of revolutions and wars. He that hath ears to -hear, let him hear. - -That though I may have a wider sight than you, I do not know -everything. I draw conclusions from premises, the same as you do. -I predict the probable effects of causes known to me; but a sudden -irruption of free and erratic will sets up a new cause, and my -calculation has to be made afresh. My predictions are not the result of -divine omniscience. I see further than you, that is all. My logic may -be no better than yours. For instance, when we drove back the forces -of evil during the early months of the war, I forgot the Law of Rhythm -that would enable them to roll forward again when they had generated -another supply of strength. Even devils generate their own strength. -Yes, they too are Units of Force, and must be figured on as such. I -shall not make that mistake again. - - -My Teacher, who stands beside me at this moment, directs me to say -that even the Masters do not know everything. As my vision is wider -than yours, so their vision is wider than mine; but they cannot always -see what goes on in the farthest stars. They invite you to become like -them; but they know that you are held by rhythmic law, and that for -every two steps you take toward them, you will fall back at least -one step. That you do not fall back two steps is because of your free -will, and because of that greater rhythm which urges mankind to the -flood-tide. Each achievement is a ripple in a larger wave which you -cannot always see. - -I have been requested to write further of my Teacher, but my Teacher -wishes to remain in the background. I may tell you this, however, O -world! my Teacher still has a physical body and walks the earth as a -man. He works in both the material and the astral worlds, and in higher -worlds beyond them, and the purposes of his life are outside your -comprehension. He is a servant of the Law, and his joy is in working -_with_ the Law. The Black Masters, for there are Black Masters, -work against the Law. I have told you of my conversations with one of -them, and have given you a hint as to his methods. +COUNTESS. +Sir, I am a poor friend of yours, that loves you. -When you are strong, you need not fear the Black Masters. You may pass -the time of day with them, as I do. They are far more afraid of me than -I am of them. I do not go out of my way if I see one coming. I find -them rather diverting, though I recognize the tragedy of their lot. -They fill a terrible office, which must be filled, and their sufferings -are great. They are the erring brothers of the White Masters. In the -beginning they were trained in the same school; but the great “moment -of choice” came, and the evil ones _separated themselves_ from -their source. The White Masters do not seek to destroy them, knowing -that in the end they will destroy themselves. Why waste effort in -striving to hurry the sunset? +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Thick, thick; spare not me. -Do not let the black Masters and their servants mislead you, and avoid -them if you can until you are stronger than they. But when you are -stronger than they, you have nothing to fear from them. +COUNTESS. +I think, sir, you can eat none of this homely meat. -When they cannot affect you directly, they strive to affect you through -those you love. Be at peace. You are not your brother’s keeper. If -your brother delights in the devil, let him have the pleasure of his -preference. Will is free. +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Nay, put me to’t, I warrant you. -Give testimony of the truth that is in you; but do not attempt to -muzzle the hounds that bay the summons to the witches’ sabbath. +COUNTESS. +You were lately whipp’d, sir, as I think. -Enter the Holy Temple and shut the door; then invoke the angels. The -baying of the hounds cannot drown the music of the angel voices. +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Spare not me. -Be still, and know that God is God. +COUNTESS. +Do you cry ‘O Lord, sir!’ at your whipping, and ‘spare not me’? Indeed +your ‘O Lord, sir!’ is very sequent to your whipping. You would answer +very well to a whipping, if you were but bound to’t. +CLOWN. +I ne’er had worse luck in my life in my ‘O Lord, sir!’ I see things may +serve long, but not serve ever. -A great day is dawning for America--after a time of trial. The sun -will rise from behind a bank of clouds; but in the freshness of the -dawn much labor will be done for the new race, and for the Brotherhood -of races. All over America movements will be started for the training -and perfecting of mankind. Give them your help, for thus you will be -working with the Law. Thus you will be learning the first lessons in -the school of the White Masters, whose watchword is Service. +COUNTESS. +I play the noble housewife with the time, to entertain it so merrily +with a fool. +CLOWN. +O Lord, sir! Why, there’t serves well again. -Though I am not going far away this time, yet I leave you my blessing, -O world that I have labored and suffered for--far more than you know -during the last hard year. +COUNTESS. +An end, sir! To your business. Give Helen this, +And urge her to a present answer back. +Commend me to my kinsmen and my son. +This is not much. -And I want to thank the world for its great interest in my former book, -“Letters from a Living Dead Man.” Yes, I am living still, and am far -more alive than when I wrote for you before. Little by little I am -growing into an intensity of life which I could not have imagined when -I walked the earth as a man among men. +CLOWN. +Not much commendation to them? -In these War Letters from the other world I have tried to give you -glimpses of that intenser life which I lead now, after my return from -the journey among the stars. I had thought to tell you of that journey -when I should return again; but the story would not have been so -instructive at the present time as this story of the war in the astral -world. For you are nearer the astral world than you are to the stars, -and until you learn the a-b-c you cannot read and understand romances. +COUNTESS. +Not much employment for you. You understand me? -I am only a humble servant of the Law, a learner in the school of those -who are wiser than I. To get, I must give. To learn, I must teach. To -go forward, I must try to bring you forward with me. - -It has seemed to me that what the world needed most at the present time -was a knowledge of the mysteries behind this war. I have been an unseen -soldier in this war, in which I have received many a wound. I have -had my nights of vigil and my days of labor; but they have given me a -strength that I could not otherwise have gained. I am strong because I -have served. - -Serve you, and the reward will come in due season! - -I am going to rest now for a little while, because I have another -service to perform in the near future. - -I shall not go far away. - -“X.” - - _July 28, 1915._ - - - THE END. - - - - - =TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES= - -Simple typographical errors have been silently corrected; unbalanced -quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and -otherwise left unbalanced. - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they -were not changed. - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAR LETTERS FROM THE LIVING DEAD MAN *** - - - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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I am there before my legs. +COUNTESS. +Haste you again. + + [_Exeunt severally._] + +SCENE III. Paris. The King’s palace. + + Enter Bertram, Lafew and Parolles. + +LAFEW. +They say miracles are past; and we have our philosophical persons to +make modern and familiar things supernatural and causeless. Hence is it +that we make trifles of terrors, ensconcing ourselves into seeming +knowledge when we should submit ourselves to an unknown fear. + +PAROLLES. +Why, ’tis the rarest argument of wonder that hath shot out in our +latter times. + +BERTRAM. +And so ’tis. + +LAFEW. +To be relinquish’d of the artists,— + +PAROLLES. +So I say; both of Galen and Paracelsus. + +LAFEW. +Of all the learned and authentic fellows,— + +PAROLLES. +Right; so I say. + +LAFEW. +That gave him out incurable,— + +PAROLLES. +Why, there ’tis; so say I too. + +LAFEW. +Not to be helped. + +PAROLLES. +Right; as ’twere a man assur’d of a— + +LAFEW. +Uncertain life and sure death. + +PAROLLES. +Just; you say well. So would I have said. + +LAFEW. +I may truly say, it is a novelty to the world. + +PAROLLES. +It is indeed; if you will have it in showing, you shall read it in what +do you call there? + +LAFEW. +A showing of a heavenly effect in an earthly actor. + +PAROLLES. +That’s it; I would have said the very same. + +LAFEW. +Why, your dolphin is not lustier; fore me, I speak in respect— + +PAROLLES. +Nay, ’tis strange, ’tis very strange; that is the brief and the tedious +of it; and he’s of a most facinerious spirit that will not acknowledge +it to be the— + +LAFEW. +Very hand of heaven. + +PAROLLES. +Ay, so I say. + +LAFEW. +In a most weak— + +PAROLLES. +And debile minister, great power, great transcendence, which should +indeed give us a further use to be made than alone the recov’ry of the +king, as to be— + +LAFEW. +Generally thankful. + +PAROLLES. +I would have said it; you say well. Here comes the king. + + Enter King, Helena and Attendants. + +LAFEW. +Lustique, as the Dutchman says. I’ll like a maid the better, whilst I +have a tooth in my head. Why, he’s able to lead her a coranto. + +PAROLLES. +_Mor du vinager!_ is not this Helen? + +LAFEW. +Fore God, I think so. + +KING. +Go, call before me all the lords in court. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +Sit, my preserver, by thy patient’s side, +And with this healthful hand, whose banish’d sense +Thou has repeal’d, a second time receive +The confirmation of my promis’d gift, +Which but attends thy naming. + + Enter several Lords. + +Fair maid, send forth thine eye. This youthful parcel +Of noble bachelors stand at my bestowing, +O’er whom both sovereign power and father’s voice +I have to use. Thy frank election make; +Thou hast power to choose, and they none to forsake. + +HELENA. +To each of you one fair and virtuous mistress +Fall, when love please! Marry, to each but one! + +LAFEW. +I’d give bay curtal and his furniture +My mouth no more were broken than these boys’, +And writ as little beard. + +KING. +Peruse them well. +Not one of those but had a noble father. + + She addresses her to a Lord. + +HELENA. +Gentlemen, +Heaven hath through me restor’d the king to health. + +ALL. +We understand it, and thank heaven for you. + +HELENA. +I am a simple maid, and therein wealthiest +That I protest I simply am a maid. +Please it, your majesty, I have done already. +The blushes in my cheeks thus whisper me: +“We blush that thou shouldst choose; but, be refused, +Let the white death sit on thy cheek for ever, +We’ll ne’er come there again.” + +KING. +Make choice; and, see, +Who shuns thy love shuns all his love in me. + +HELENA. +Now, Dian, from thy altar do I fly, +And to imperial Love, that god most high, +Do my sighs stream. [_To first Lord._] Sir, will you hear my suit? + +FIRST LORD. +And grant it. + +HELENA. +Thanks, sir; all the rest is mute. + +LAFEW. +I had rather be in this choice than throw ames-ace for my life. + +HELENA. +[_To second Lord._] The honour, sir, that flames in your fair eyes, +Before I speak, too threat’ningly replies. +Love make your fortunes twenty times above +Her that so wishes, and her humble love! + +SECOND LORD. +No better, if you please. + +HELENA. +My wish receive, +Which great Love grant; and so I take my leave. + +LAFEW. +Do all they deny her? An they were sons of mine I’d have them whipp’d; +or I would send them to th’ Turk to make eunuchs of. + +HELENA. +[_To third Lord._] Be not afraid that I your hand should take; +I’ll never do you wrong for your own sake. +Blessing upon your vows, and in your bed +Find fairer fortune, if you ever wed! + +LAFEW. +These boys are boys of ice, they’ll none have her. Sure, they are +bastards to the English; the French ne’er got ’em. + +HELENA. +[_To fourth Lord._] You are too young, too happy, and too good, +To make yourself a son out of my blood. + +FOURTH LORD. +Fair one, I think not so. + +LAFEW. +There’s one grape yet. I am sure thy father drank wine. But if thou +beest not an ass, I am a youth of fourteen; I have known thee already. + +HELENA. +[_To Bertram._] I dare not say I take you, but I give +Me and my service, ever whilst I live, +Into your guiding power. This is the man. + +KING. +Why, then, young Bertram, take her; she’s thy wife. + +BERTRAM. +My wife, my liege! I shall beseech your highness, +In such a business give me leave to use +The help of mine own eyes. + +KING. +Know’st thou not, Bertram, +What she has done for me? + +BERTRAM. +Yes, my good lord, +But never hope to know why I should marry her. + +KING. +Thou know’st she has rais’d me from my sickly bed. + +BERTRAM. +But follows it, my lord, to bring me down +Must answer for your raising? I know her well; +She had her breeding at my father’s charge: +A poor physician’s daughter my wife! Disdain +Rather corrupt me ever! + +KING. +’Tis only title thou disdain’st in her, the which +I can build up. Strange is it that our bloods, +Of colour, weight, and heat, pour’d all together, +Would quite confound distinction, yet stands off +In differences so mighty. If she be +All that is virtuous, save what thou dislik’st, +A poor physician’s daughter,—thou dislik’st— +Of virtue for the name. But do not so. +From lowest place when virtuous things proceed, +The place is dignified by the doer’s deed. +Where great additions swell’s, and virtue none, +It is a dropsied honour. Good alone +Is good without a name; vileness is so: +The property by what it is should go, +Not by the title. She is young, wise, fair; +In these to nature she’s immediate heir; +And these breed honour: that is honour’s scorn +Which challenges itself as honour’s born, +And is not like the sire. Honours thrive +When rather from our acts we them derive +Than our fore-goers. The mere word’s a slave, +Debauch’d on every tomb, on every grave +A lying trophy, and as oft is dumb +Where dust and damn’d oblivion is the tomb +Of honour’d bones indeed. What should be said? +If thou canst like this creature as a maid, +I can create the rest. Virtue and she +Is her own dower; honour and wealth from me. + +BERTRAM. +I cannot love her, nor will strive to do ’t. + +KING. +Thou wrong’st thyself, if thou shouldst strive to choose. + +HELENA. +That you are well restor’d, my lord, I am glad. +Let the rest go. + +KING. +My honour’s at the stake, which to defeat, +I must produce my power. Here, take her hand, +Proud scornful boy, unworthy this good gift, +That dost in vile misprision shackle up +My love and her desert; that canst not dream +We, poising us in her defective scale, +Shall weigh thee to the beam; that wilt not know +It is in us to plant thine honour where +We please to have it grow. Check thy contempt; +Obey our will, which travails in thy good; +Believe not thy disdain, but presently +Do thine own fortunes that obedient right +Which both thy duty owes and our power claims; +Or I will throw thee from my care for ever +Into the staggers and the careless lapse +Of youth and ignorance; both my revenge and hate +Loosing upon thee in the name of justice, +Without all terms of pity. Speak! Thine answer! + +BERTRAM. +Pardon, my gracious lord; for I submit +My fancy to your eyes. When I consider +What great creation, and what dole of honour +Flies where you bid it, I find that she, which late +Was in my nobler thoughts most base, is now +The praised of the king; who, so ennobled, +Is as ’twere born so. + +KING. +Take her by the hand, +And tell her she is thine; to whom I promise +A counterpoise; if not to thy estate, +A balance more replete. + +BERTRAM. +I take her hand. + +KING. +Good fortune and the favour of the king +Smile upon this contract; whose ceremony +Shall seem expedient on the now-born brief, +And be perform’d tonight. The solemn feast +Shall more attend upon the coming space, +Expecting absent friends. As thou lov’st her, +Thy love’s to me religious; else, does err. + + [_Exeunt King, Bertram, Helena, Lords, and Attendants._] + +LAFEW. +Do you hear, monsieur? A word with you. + +PAROLLES. +Your pleasure, sir. + +LAFEW. +Your lord and master did well to make his recantation. + +PAROLLES. +Recantation! My lord! My master! + +LAFEW. +Ay. Is it not a language I speak? + +PAROLLES. +A most harsh one, and not to be understood without bloody succeeding. +My master! + +LAFEW. +Are you companion to the Count Rossillon? + +PAROLLES. +To any count; to all counts; to what is man. + +LAFEW. +To what is count’s man: count’s master is of another style. + +PAROLLES. +You are too old, sir; let it satisfy you, you are too old. + +LAFEW. +I must tell thee, sirrah, I write man; to which title age cannot bring +thee. + +PAROLLES. +What I dare too well do, I dare not do. + +LAFEW. +I did think thee, for two ordinaries, to be a pretty wise fellow; thou +didst make tolerable vent of thy travel; it might pass. Yet the scarfs +and the bannerets about thee did manifoldly dissuade me from believing +thee a vessel of too great a burden. I have now found thee; when I lose +thee again I care not. Yet art thou good for nothing but taking up, and +that thou art scarce worth. + +PAROLLES. +Hadst thou not the privilege of antiquity upon thee— + +LAFEW. +Do not plunge thyself too far in anger, lest thou hasten thy trial; +which if—Lord have mercy on thee for a hen! So, my good window of +lattice, fare thee well; thy casement I need not open, for I look +through thee. Give me thy hand. + +PAROLLES. +My lord, you give me most egregious indignity. + +LAFEW. +Ay, with all my heart; and thou art worthy of it. + +PAROLLES. +I have not, my lord, deserv’d it. + +LAFEW. +Yes, good faith, every dram of it; and I will not bate thee a scruple. + +PAROLLES. +Well, I shall be wiser. + +LAFEW. +Ev’n as soon as thou canst, for thou hast to pull at a smack o’ th’ +contrary. If ever thou beest bound in thy scarf and beaten, thou shalt +find what it is to be proud of thy bondage. I have a desire to hold my +acquaintance with thee, or rather my knowledge, that I may say in the +default, “He is a man I know.” + +PAROLLES. +My lord, you do me most insupportable vexation. + +LAFEW. +I would it were hell-pains for thy sake, and my poor doing eternal; for +doing I am past, as I will by thee, in what motion age will give me +leave. + + [_Exit._] + +PAROLLES. +Well, thou hast a son shall take this disgrace off me; scurvy, old, +filthy, scurvy lord! Well, I must be patient; there is no fettering of +authority. I’ll beat him, by my life, if I can meet him with any +convenience, an he were double and double a lord. I’ll have no more +pity of his age than I would have of—I’ll beat him, and if I could but +meet him again. + + Enter Lafew. + +LAFEW. +Sirrah, your lord and master’s married; there’s news for you; you have +a new mistress. + +PAROLLES. +I most unfeignedly beseech your lordship to make some reservation of +your wrongs. He is my good lord; whom I serve above is my master. + +LAFEW. +Who? God? + +PAROLLES. +Ay, sir. + +LAFEW. +The devil it is that’s thy master. Why dost thou garter up thy arms o’ +this fashion? Dost make hose of thy sleeves? Do other servants so? Thou +wert best set thy lower part where thy nose stands. By mine honour, if +I were but two hours younger, I’d beat thee. Methink’st thou art a +general offence, and every man should beat thee. I think thou wast +created for men to breathe themselves upon thee. + +PAROLLES. +This is hard and undeserved measure, my lord. + +LAFEW. +Go to, sir; you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out of a +pomegranate; you are a vagabond, and no true traveller. You are more +saucy with lords and honourable personages than the commission of your +birth and virtue gives you heraldry. You are not worth another word, +else I’d call you knave. I leave you. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Bertram. + +PAROLLES. +Good, very good, it is so then. Good, very good; let it be conceal’d +awhile. + +BERTRAM. +Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever! + +PAROLLES. +What’s the matter, sweetheart? + +BERTRAM. +Although before the solemn priest I have sworn, +I will not bed her. + +PAROLLES. +What, what, sweetheart? + +BERTRAM. +O my Parolles, they have married me! +I’ll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. + +PAROLLES. +France is a dog-hole, and it no more merits +The tread of a man’s foot: to the wars! + +BERTRAM. +There’s letters from my mother; what th’ import is +I know not yet. + +PAROLLES. +Ay, that would be known. To th’ wars, my boy, to th’ wars! +He wears his honour in a box unseen +That hugs his kicky-wicky here at home, +Spending his manly marrow in her arms, +Which should sustain the bound and high curvet +Of Mars’s fiery steed. To other regions! +France is a stable; we that dwell in’t, jades, +Therefore, to th’ war! + +BERTRAM. +It shall be so; I’ll send her to my house, +Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, +And wherefore I am fled; write to the king +That which I durst not speak. His present gift +Shall furnish me to those Italian fields +Where noble fellows strike. War is no strife +To the dark house and the detested wife. + +PAROLLES. +Will this caprichio hold in thee, art sure? + +BERTRAM. +Go with me to my chamber and advise me. +I’ll send her straight away. Tomorrow +I’ll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. + +PAROLLES. +Why, these balls bound; there’s noise in it. ’Tis hard: +A young man married is a man that’s marr’d. +Therefore away, and leave her bravely; go. +The king has done you wrong; but hush ’tis so. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Paris. The King’s palace. + + Enter Helena and Clown. + +HELENA. +My mother greets me kindly: is she well? + +CLOWN. +She is not well, but yet she has her health; she’s very merry, but yet +she is not well. But thanks be given, she’s very well, and wants +nothing i’ the world; but yet she is not well. + +HELENA. +If she be very well, what does she ail that she’s not very well? + +CLOWN. +Truly, she’s very well indeed, but for two things. + +HELENA. +What two things? + +CLOWN. +One, that she’s not in heaven, whither God send her quickly! The other, +that she’s in earth, from whence God send her quickly! + + Enter Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +Bless you, my fortunate lady! + +HELENA. +I hope, sir, I have your good will to have mine own good fortune. + +PAROLLES. +You had my prayers to lead them on; and to keep them on, have them +still. O, my knave how does my old lady? + +CLOWN. +So that you had her wrinkles and I her money, I would she did as you +say. + +PAROLLES. +Why, I say nothing. + +CLOWN. +Marry, you are the wiser man; for many a man’s tongue shakes out his +master’s undoing. To say nothing, to do nothing, to know nothing, and +to have nothing, is to be a great part of your title; which is within a +very little of nothing. + +PAROLLES. +Away! Thou art a knave. + +CLOWN. +You should have said, sir, before a knave thou art a knave; that is +before me thou art a knave. This had been truth, sir. + +PAROLLES. +Go to, thou art a witty fool; I have found thee. + +CLOWN. +Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you taught to find me? The +search, sir, was profitable; and much fool may you find in you, even to +the world’s pleasure and the increase of laughter. + +PAROLLES. +A good knave, i’ faith, and well fed. +Madam, my lord will go away tonight; +A very serious business calls on him. +The great prerogative and right of love, +Which, as your due, time claims, he does acknowledge; +But puts it off to a compell’d restraint; +Whose want, and whose delay, is strew’d with sweets; +Which they distil now in the curbed time, +To make the coming hour o’erflow with joy +And pleasure drown the brim. + +HELENA. +What’s his will else? + +PAROLLES. +That you will take your instant leave o’ the king, +And make this haste as your own good proceeding, +Strengthen’d with what apology you think +May make it probable need. + +HELENA. +What more commands he? + +PAROLLES. +That, having this obtain’d, you presently +Attend his further pleasure. + +HELENA. +In everything I wait upon his will. + +PAROLLES. +I shall report it so. + +HELENA. +I pray you. Come, sirrah. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Another room in the same. + + Enter Lafew and Bertram. + +LAFEW. +But I hope your lordship thinks not him a soldier. + +BERTRAM. +Yes, my lord, and of very valiant approof. + +LAFEW. +You have it from his own deliverance. + +BERTRAM. +And by other warranted testimony. + +LAFEW. +Then my dial goes not true; I took this lark for a bunting. + +BERTRAM. +I do assure you, my lord, he is very great in knowledge, and +accordingly valiant. + +LAFEW. +I have, then, sinned against his experience and transgressed against +his valour; and my state that way is dangerous, since I cannot yet find +in my heart to repent. Here he comes; I pray you make us friends; I +will pursue the amity. + + Enter Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +[_To Bertram._] These things shall be done, sir. + +LAFEW. +Pray you, sir, who’s his tailor? + +PAROLLES. +Sir! + +LAFEW. +O, I know him well, I, sir; he, sir, is a good workman, a very good +tailor. + +BERTRAM. +[_Aside to Parolles._] Is she gone to the king? + +PAROLLES. +She is. + +BERTRAM. +Will she away tonight? + +PAROLLES. +As you’ll have her. + +BERTRAM. +I have writ my letters, casketed my treasure, +Given order for our horses; and tonight, +When I should take possession of the bride, +End ere I do begin. + +LAFEW. +A good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner; but one +that lies three-thirds and uses a known truth to pass a thousand +nothings with, should be once heard and thrice beaten.— God save you, +Captain. + +BERTRAM. +Is there any unkindness between my lord and you, monsieur? + +PAROLLES. +I know not how I have deserved to run into my lord’s displeasure. + +LAFEW. +You have made shift to run into ’t, boots and spurs and all, like him +that leapt into the custard; and out of it you’ll run again, rather +than suffer question for your residence. + +BERTRAM. +It may be you have mistaken him, my lord. + +LAFEW. +And shall do so ever, though I took him at his prayers. Fare you well, +my lord; and believe this of me, there can be no kernal in this light +nut; the soul of this man is his clothes; trust him not in matter of +heavy consequence; I have kept of them tame, and know their natures. +Farewell, monsieur; I have spoken better of you than you have or will +to deserve at my hand; but we must do good against evil. + + [_Exit._] + +PAROLLES. +An idle lord, I swear. + +BERTRAM. +I think so. + +PAROLLES. +Why, do you not know him? + +BERTRAM. +Yes, I do know him well; and common speech +Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. + + Enter Helena. + +HELENA. +I have, sir, as I was commanded from you, +Spoke with the king, and have procur’d his leave +For present parting; only he desires +Some private speech with you. + +BERTRAM. +I shall obey his will. +You must not marvel, Helen, at my course, +Which holds not colour with the time, nor does +The ministration and required office +On my particular. Prepared I was not +For such a business; therefore am I found +So much unsettled: this drives me to entreat you; +That presently you take your way for home, +And rather muse than ask why I entreat you: +For my respects are better than they seem; +And my appointments have in them a need +Greater than shows itself at the first view +To you that know them not. This to my mother. + + [_Giving a letter._] + +’Twill be two days ere I shall see you; so +I leave you to your wisdom. + +HELENA. +Sir, I can nothing say +But that I am your most obedient servant. + +BERTRAM. +Come, come, no more of that. + +HELENA. +And ever shall +With true observance seek to eke out that +Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail’d +To equal my great fortune. + +BERTRAM. +Let that go. +My haste is very great. Farewell; hie home. + +HELENA. +Pray, sir, your pardon. + +BERTRAM. +Well, what would you say? + +HELENA. +I am not worthy of the wealth I owe; +Nor dare I say ’tis mine, and yet it is; +But, like a timorous thief, most fain would steal +What law does vouch mine own. + +BERTRAM. +What would you have? + +HELENA. +Something; and scarce so much; nothing indeed. +I would not tell you what I would, my lord. Faith, yes, +Strangers and foes do sunder and not kiss. + +BERTRAM. +I pray you, stay not, but in haste to horse. + +HELENA. +I shall not break your bidding, good my lord. +Where are my other men, monsieur? +Farewell, + + [_Exit Helena._] + +BERTRAM. +Go thou toward home, where I will never come +Whilst I can shake my sword or hear the drum. +Away, and for our flight. + +PAROLLES. +Bravely, coragio! + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT III. + +SCENE I. Florence. A room in the Duke’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence attended; two French Lords, and + Soldiers. + +DUKE. +So that, from point to point, now have you heard +The fundamental reasons of this war, +Whose great decision hath much blood let forth, +And more thirsts after. + +FIRST LORD. +Holy seems the quarrel +Upon your Grace’s part; black and fearful +On the opposer. + +DUKE. +Therefore we marvel much our cousin France +Would, in so just a business, shut his bosom +Against our borrowing prayers. + +SECOND LORD. +Good my lord, +The reasons of our state I cannot yield, +But like a common and an outward man +That the great figure of a council frames +By self-unable motion; therefore dare not +Say what I think of it, since I have found +Myself in my incertain grounds to fail +As often as I guess’d. + +DUKE. +Be it his pleasure. + +FIRST LORD. +But I am sure the younger of our nature, +That surfeit on their ease, will day by day +Come here for physic. + +DUKE. +Welcome shall they be; +And all the honours that can fly from us +Shall on them settle. You know your places well; +When better fall, for your avails they fell. +Tomorrow to the field. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Countess and Clown. + +COUNTESS. +It hath happen’d all as I would have had it, save that he comes not +along with her. + +CLOWN. +By my troth, I take my young lord to be a very melancholy man. + +COUNTESS. +By what observance, I pray you? + +CLOWN. +Why, he will look upon his boot and sing; mend the ruff and sing; ask +questions and sing; pick his teeth and sing. I know a man that had this +trick of melancholy sold a goodly manor for a song. + +COUNTESS. +Let me see what he writes, and when he means to come. + + [_Opening a letter._] + +CLOWN. +I have no mind to Isbel since I was at court. Our old lings and our +Isbels o’ th’ country are nothing like your old ling and your Isbels o’ +th’ court. The brains of my Cupid’s knock’d out, and I begin to love, +as an old man loves money, with no stomach. + +COUNTESS. +What have we here? + +CLOWN. +E’en that you have there. + + [_Exit._] + +COUNTESS. +[_Reads._] _I have sent you a daughter-in-law; she hath recovered the +king and undone me. I have wedded her, not bedded her, and sworn to +make the “not” eternal. You shall hear I am run away; know it before +the report come. If there be breadth enough in the world, I will hold a +long distance. My duty to you. + Your unfortunate son,_ + BERTRAM. + +This is not well, rash and unbridled boy, +To fly the favours of so good a king, +To pluck his indignation on thy head +By the misprizing of a maid too virtuous +For the contempt of empire. + + Enter Clown. + +CLOWN. +O madam, yonder is heavy news within between two soldiers and my young +lady. + +COUNTESS. +What is the matter? + +CLOWN. +Nay, there is some comfort in the news, some comfort; your son will not +be kill’d so soon as I thought he would. + +COUNTESS. +Why should he be kill’d? + +CLOWN. +So say I, madam, if he run away, as I hear he does; the danger is in +standing to’t; that’s the loss of men, though it be the getting of +children. Here they come will tell you more. For my part, I only hear +your son was run away. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Helena and the two Gentlemen. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Save you, good madam. + +HELENA. +Madam, my lord is gone, for ever gone. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Do not say so. + +COUNTESS. +Think upon patience. Pray you, gentlemen,— +I have felt so many quirks of joy and grief +That the first face of neither on the start +Can woman me unto ’t. Where is my son, I pray you? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Madam, he’s gone to serve the Duke of Florence; +We met him thitherward, for thence we came, +And, after some despatch in hand at court, +Thither we bend again. + +HELENA. +Look on this letter, madam; here’s my passport. + +[_Reads._] _When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never +shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am +father to, then call me husband; but in such a “then” I write a +“never”._ +This is a dreadful sentence. + +COUNTESS. +Brought you this letter, gentlemen? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Ay, madam; And for the contents’ sake, are sorry for our pains. + +COUNTESS. +I pr’ythee, lady, have a better cheer; +If thou engrossest all the griefs are thine, +Thou robb’st me of a moiety. He was my son, +But I do wash his name out of my blood, +And thou art all my child. Towards Florence is he? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Ay, madam. + +COUNTESS. +And to be a soldier? + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +Such is his noble purpose, and, believe’t, +The duke will lay upon him all the honour +That good convenience claims. + +COUNTESS. +Return you thither? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Ay, madam, with the swiftest wing of speed. + +HELENA. +[_Reads._] _Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France._ +’Tis bitter. + +COUNTESS. +Find you that there? + +HELENA. +Ay, madam. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +’Tis but the boldness of his hand haply, which his heart was not +consenting to. + +COUNTESS. +Nothing in France until he have no wife! +There’s nothing here that is too good for him +But only she, and she deserves a lord +That twenty such rude boys might tend upon, +And call her hourly mistress. Who was with him? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +A servant only, and a gentleman which I have sometime known. + +COUNTESS. +Parolles, was it not? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Ay, my good lady, he. + +COUNTESS. +A very tainted fellow, and full of wickedness. +My son corrupts a well-derived nature +With his inducement. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Indeed, good lady, +The fellow has a deal of that too much, +Which holds him much to have. + +COUNTESS. +Y’are welcome, gentlemen. +I will entreat you, when you see my son, +To tell him that his sword can never win +The honour that he loses: more I’ll entreat you +Written to bear along. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +We serve you, madam, +In that and all your worthiest affairs. + +COUNTESS. +Not so, but as we change our courtesies. +Will you draw near? + + [_Exeunt Countess and Gentlemen._] + +HELENA. +“Till I have no wife, I have nothing in France.” +Nothing in France until he has no wife! +Thou shalt have none, Rossillon, none in France; +Then hast thou all again. Poor lord, is’t I +That chase thee from thy country, and expose +Those tender limbs of thine to the event +Of the none-sparing war? And is it I +That drive thee from the sportive court, where thou +Wast shot at with fair eyes, to be the mark +Of smoky muskets? O you leaden messengers, +That ride upon the violent speed of fire, +Fly with false aim; move the still-peering air, +That sings with piercing; do not touch my lord. +Whoever shoots at him, I set him there; +Whoever charges on his forward breast, +I am the caitiff that do hold him to’t; +And though I kill him not, I am the cause +His death was so effected. Better ’twere +I met the ravin lion when he roar’d +With sharp constraint of hunger; better ’twere +That all the miseries which nature owes +Were mine at once. No; come thou home, Rossillon, +Whence honour but of danger wins a scar, +As oft it loses all. I will be gone; +My being here it is that holds thee hence. +Shall I stay here to do’t? No, no, although +The air of paradise did fan the house, +And angels offic’d all. I will be gone, +That pitiful rumour may report my flight +To consolate thine ear. Come, night; end, day; +For with the dark, poor thief, I’ll steal away. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. Florence. Before the Duke’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Bertram, drum and trumpets, + Soldiers, Parolles. + +DUKE. +The general of our horse thou art, and we, +Great in our hope, lay our best love and credence +Upon thy promising fortune. + +BERTRAM. +Sir, it is +A charge too heavy for my strength; but yet +We’ll strive to bear it for your worthy sake +To th’extreme edge of hazard. + +DUKE. +Then go thou forth; +And fortune play upon thy prosperous helm, +As thy auspicious mistress! + +BERTRAM. +This very day, +Great Mars, I put myself into thy file; +Make me but like my thoughts, and I shall prove +A lover of thy drum, hater of love. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Countess and Steward. + +COUNTESS. +Alas! and would you take the letter of her? +Might you not know she would do as she has done, +By sending me a letter? Read it again. + +STEWARD. +[_Reads._] _I am Saint Jaques’ pilgrim, thither gone. +Ambitious love hath so in me offended +That barefoot plod I the cold ground upon, +With sainted vow my faults to have amended. +Write, write, that from the bloody course of war +My dearest master, your dear son, may hie. +Bless him at home in peace, whilst I from far +His name with zealous fervour sanctify. +His taken labours bid him me forgive; +I, his despiteful Juno, sent him forth +From courtly friends, with camping foes to live, +Where death and danger dog the heels of worth. +He is too good and fair for death and me; +Whom I myself embrace to set him free._ + +COUNTESS. +Ah, what sharp stings are in her mildest words! +Rynaldo, you did never lack advice so much +As letting her pass so; had I spoke with her, +I could have well diverted her intents, +Which thus she hath prevented. + +STEWARD. +Pardon me, madam; +If I had given you this at over-night, +She might have been o’erta’en; and yet she writes +Pursuit would be but vain. + +COUNTESS. +What angel shall +Bless this unworthy husband? He cannot thrive, +Unless her prayers, whom heaven delights to hear +And loves to grant, reprieve him from the wrath +Of greatest justice. Write, write, Rynaldo, +To this unworthy husband of his wife; +Let every word weigh heavy of her worth, +That he does weigh too light; my greatest grief, +Though little he do feel it, set down sharply. +Dispatch the most convenient messenger. +When haply he shall hear that she is gone +He will return; and hope I may that she, +Hearing so much, will speed her foot again, +Led hither by pure love. Which of them both +Is dearest to me I have no skill in sense +To make distinction. Provide this messenger. +My heart is heavy, and mine age is weak; +Grief would have tears, and sorrow bids me speak. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Without the walls of Florence. + + Enter an old Widow of Florence, Diana, Violenta, Mariana and other + Citizens. + +WIDOW. +Nay, come; for if they do approach the city, we shall lose all the +sight. + +DIANA. +They say the French count has done most honourable service. + +WIDOW. +It is reported that he has taken their great’st commander, and that +with his own hand he slew the duke’s brother. + + [_A tucket afar off._] + +We have lost our labour; they are gone a contrary way. Hark! you may +know by their trumpets. + +MARIANA. +Come, let’s return again, and suffice ourselves with the report of it. +Well, Diana, take heed of this French earl; the honour of a maid is her +name; and no legacy is so rich as honesty. + +WIDOW. +I have told my neighbour how you have been solicited by a gentleman his +companion. + +MARIANA. +I know that knave; hang him! one Parolles; a filthy officer he is in +those suggestions for the young earl. Beware of them, Diana; their +promises, enticements, oaths, tokens, and all these engines of lust, +are not the things they go under; many a maid hath been seduced by +them; and the misery is, example, that so terrible shows in the wreck +of maidenhood, cannot for all that dissuade succession, but that they +are limed with the twigs that threaten them. I hope I need not to +advise you further; but I hope your own grace will keep you where you +are, though there were no further danger known but the modesty which is +so lost. + +DIANA. +You shall not need to fear me. + + Enter Helena in the dress of a pilgrim. + +WIDOW. +I hope so. Look, here comes a pilgrim. I know she will lie at my house; +thither they send one another; I’ll question her. God save you, +pilgrim! Whither are bound? + +HELENA. +To Saint Jaques le Grand. +Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you? + +WIDOW. +At the Saint Francis here, beside the port. + +HELENA. +Is this the way? + + [_A march afar._] + +WIDOW. +Ay, marry, is’t. Hark you, they come this way. +If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, +But till the troops come by, +I will conduct you where you shall be lodg’d; +The rather for I think I know your hostess +As ample as myself. + +HELENA. +Is it yourself? + +WIDOW. +If you shall please so, pilgrim. + +HELENA. +I thank you, and will stay upon your leisure. + +WIDOW. +You came, I think, from France? + +HELENA. +I did so. + +WIDOW. +Here you shall see a countryman of yours +That has done worthy service. + +HELENA. +His name, I pray you. + +DIANA. +The Count Rossillon. Know you such a one? + +HELENA. +But by the ear, that hears most nobly of him; +His face I know not. + +DIANA. +Whatsome’er he is, +He’s bravely taken here. He stole from France, +As ’tis reported, for the king had married him +Against his liking. Think you it is so? + +HELENA. +Ay, surely, mere the truth; I know his lady. + +DIANA. +There is a gentleman that serves the count +Reports but coarsely of her. + +HELENA. +What’s his name? + +DIANA. +Monsieur Parolles. + +HELENA. +O, I believe with him, +In argument of praise, or to the worth +Of the great count himself, she is too mean +To have her name repeated; all her deserving +Is a reserved honesty, and that +I have not heard examin’d. + +DIANA. +Alas, poor lady! +’Tis a hard bondage to become the wife +Of a detesting lord. + +WIDOW. +Ay, right; good creature, wheresoe’er she is, +Her heart weighs sadly. This young maid might do her +A shrewd turn, if she pleas’d. + +HELENA. +How do you mean? +Maybe the amorous count solicits her +In the unlawful purpose. + +WIDOW. +He does indeed, +And brokes with all that can in such a suit +Corrupt the tender honour of a maid; +But she is arm’d for him, and keeps her guard +In honestest defence. + + Enter, with a drum and colours, a party of the Florentine army, + Bertram and Parolles. + +MARIANA. +The gods forbid else! + +WIDOW. +So, now they come. +That is Antonio, the Duke’s eldest son; +That Escalus. + +HELENA. +Which is the Frenchman? + +DIANA. +He; +That with the plume; ’tis a most gallant fellow. +I would he lov’d his wife; if he were honester +He were much goodlier. Is’t not a handsome gentleman? + +HELENA. +I like him well. + +DIANA. +’Tis pity he is not honest. Yond’s that same knave +That leads him to these places. Were I his lady +I would poison that vile rascal. + +HELENA. +Which is he? + +DIANA. +That jack-an-apes with scarfs. Why is he melancholy? + +HELENA. +Perchance he’s hurt i’ the battle. + +PAROLLES. +Lose our drum! Well. + +MARIANA. +He’s shrewdly vex’d at something. Look, he has spied us. + +WIDOW. +Marry, hang you! + +MARIANA. +And your courtesy, for a ring-carrier! + + [_Exeunt Bertram, Parolles, Officers and Soldiers._] + +WIDOW. +The troop is past. Come, pilgrim, I will bring you +Where you shall host; of enjoin’d penitents +There’s four or five, to great Saint Jaques bound, +Already at my house. + +HELENA. +I humbly thank you. +Please it this matron and this gentle maid +To eat with us tonight; the charge and thanking +Shall be for me; and, to requite you further, +I will bestow some precepts of this virgin, +Worthy the note. + +BOTH. +We’ll take your offer kindly. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Camp before Florence. + + Enter Bertram and the two French Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Nay, good my lord, put him to’t; let him have his way. + +SECOND LORD. +If your lordship find him not a hilding, hold me no more in your +respect. + +FIRST LORD. +On my life, my lord, a bubble. + +BERTRAM. +Do you think I am so far deceived in him? + +FIRST LORD. +Believe it, my lord, in mine own direct knowledge, without any malice, +but to speak of him as my kinsman, he’s a most notable coward, an +infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise-breaker, the owner of no +one good quality worthy your lordship’s entertainment. + +SECOND LORD. +It were fit you knew him; lest, reposing too far in his virtue, which +he hath not, he might at some great and trusty business, in a main +danger fail you. + +BERTRAM. +I would I knew in what particular action to try him. + +SECOND LORD. +None better than to let him fetch off his drum, which you hear him so +confidently undertake to do. + +FIRST LORD. +I with a troop of Florentines will suddenly surprise him; such I will +have whom I am sure he knows not from the enemy; we will bind and +hoodwink him so that he shall suppose no other but that he is carried +into the leaguer of the adversaries when we bring him to our own tents. +Be but your lordship present at his examination; if he do not for the +promise of his life, and in the highest compulsion of base fear, offer +to betray you, and deliver all the intelligence in his power against +you, and that with the divine forfeit of his soul upon oath, never +trust my judgment in anything. + +SECOND LORD. +O, for the love of laughter, let him fetch his drum; he says he has a +stratagem for’t. When your lordship sees the bottom of his success +in’t, and to what metal this counterfeit lump of ore will be melted, if +you give him not John Drum’s entertainment, your inclining cannot be +removed. Here he comes. + + Enter Parolles. + +FIRST LORD. +O, for the love of laughter, hinder not the honour of his design: let +him fetch off his drum in any hand. + +BERTRAM. +How now, monsieur! This drum sticks sorely in your disposition. + +SECOND LORD. +A pox on ’t; let it go; ’tis but a drum. + +PAROLLES. +But a drum! Is’t but a drum? A drum so lost! There was excellent +command, to charge in with our horse upon our own wings, and to rend +our own soldiers. + +SECOND LORD. +That was not to be blam’d in the command of the service; it was a +disaster of war that Caesar himself could not have prevented, if he had +been there to command. + +BERTRAM. +Well, we cannot greatly condemn our success: some dishonour we had in +the loss of that drum, but it is not to be recovered. + +PAROLLES. +It might have been recovered. + +BERTRAM. +It might, but it is not now. + +PAROLLES. +It is to be recovered. But that the merit of service is seldom +attributed to the true and exact performer, I would have that drum or +another, or _hic jacet_. + +BERTRAM. +Why, if you have a stomach, to’t, monsieur, if you think your mystery +in stratagem can bring this instrument of honour again into his native +quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise, and go on; I will grace the +attempt for a worthy exploit; if you speed well in it, the duke shall +both speak of it and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, +even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. + +PAROLLES. +By the hand of a soldier, I will undertake it. + +BERTRAM. +But you must not now slumber in it. + +PAROLLES. +I’ll about it this evening; and I will presently pen down my dilemmas, +encourage myself in my certainty, put myself into my mortal +preparation; and by midnight look to hear further from me. + +BERTRAM. +May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it? + +PAROLLES. +I know not what the success will be, my lord, but the attempt I vow. + +BERTRAM. +I know th’art valiant; and to the possibility of thy soldiership, will +subscribe for thee. Farewell. + +PAROLLES. +I love not many words. + + [_Exit._] + +FIRST LORD. +No more than a fish loves water. Is not this a strange fellow, my lord, +that so confidently seems to undertake this business, which he knows is +not to be done; damns himself to do, and dares better be damn’d than to +do’t. + +SECOND LORD. +You do not know him, my lord, as we do; certain it is that he will +steal himself into a man’s favour, and for a week escape a great deal +of discoveries, but when you find him out, you have him ever after. + +BERTRAM. +Why, do you think he will make no deed at all of this, that so +seriously he does address himself unto? + +FIRST LORD. +None in the world; but return with an invention, and clap upon you two +or three probable lies; but we have almost embossed him; you shall see +his fall tonight; for indeed he is not for your lordship’s respect. + +SECOND LORD. +We’ll make you some sport with the fox ere we case him. He was first +smok’d by the old Lord Lafew; when his disguise and he is parted, tell +me what a sprat you shall find him; which you shall see this very +night. + +FIRST LORD. +I must go look my twigs. He shall be caught. + +BERTRAM. +Your brother, he shall go along with me. + +FIRST LORD. +As’t please your lordship. I’ll leave you. + + [_Exit._] + +BERTRAM. +Now will I lead you to the house, and show you +The lass I spoke of. + +SECOND LORD. +But you say she’s honest. + +BERTRAM. +That’s all the fault. I spoke with her but once, +And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to her +By this same coxcomb that we have i’ the wind +Tokens and letters which she did re-send, +And this is all I have done. She’s a fair creature; +Will you go see her? + +SECOND LORD. +With all my heart, my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + Enter Helena and Widow. + +HELENA. +If you misdoubt me that I am not she, +I know not how I shall assure you further, +But I shall lose the grounds I work upon. + +WIDOW. +Though my estate be fall’n, I was well born, +Nothing acquainted with these businesses, +And would not put my reputation now +In any staining act. + +HELENA. +Nor would I wish you. +First give me trust, the count he is my husband, +And what to your sworn counsel I have spoken +Is so from word to word; and then you cannot, +By the good aid that I of you shall borrow, +Err in bestowing it. + +WIDOW. +I should believe you, +For you have show’d me that which well approves +Y’are great in fortune. + +HELENA. +Take this purse of gold, +And let me buy your friendly help thus far, +Which I will over-pay, and pay again +When I have found it. The count he woos your daughter +Lays down his wanton siege before her beauty, +Resolv’d to carry her; let her in fine consent, +As we’ll direct her how ’tis best to bear it. +Now his important blood will naught deny +That she’ll demand; a ring the county wears, +That downward hath succeeded in his house +From son to son, some four or five descents +Since the first father wore it. This ring he holds +In most rich choice; yet, in his idle fire, +To buy his will, it would not seem too dear, +Howe’er repented after. + +WIDOW. +Now I see +The bottom of your purpose. + +HELENA. +You see it lawful then; it is no more +But that your daughter, ere she seems as won, +Desires this ring; appoints him an encounter; +In fine, delivers me to fill the time, +Herself most chastely absent. After, +To marry her, I’ll add three thousand crowns +To what is pass’d already. + +WIDOW. +I have yielded. +Instruct my daughter how she shall persever, +That time and place with this deceit so lawful +May prove coherent. Every night he comes +With musics of all sorts, and songs compos’d +To her unworthiness: it nothing steads us +To chide him from our eaves; for he persists +As if his life lay on ’t. + +HELENA. +Why then tonight +Let us assay our plot; which, if it speed, +Is wicked meaning in a lawful deed, +And lawful meaning in a lawful act, +Where both not sin, and yet a sinful fact. +But let’s about it. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT IV. + +SCENE I. Without the Florentine camp. + + Enter first Lord with five or six Soldiers in ambush. + +FIRST LORD. +He can come no other way but by this hedge-corner. When you sally upon +him, speak what terrible language you will; though you understand it +not yourselves, no matter; for we must not seem to understand him, +unless someone among us, whom we must produce for an interpreter. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Good captain, let me be th’ interpreter. + +FIRST LORD. +Art not acquainted with him? Knows he not thy voice? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +No sir, I warrant you. + +FIRST LORD. +But what linsey-woolsey has thou to speak to us again? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +E’en such as you speak to me. + +FIRST LORD. +He must think us some band of strangers i’ the adversary’s +entertainment. Now he hath a smack of all neighbouring languages, +therefore we must every one be a man of his own fancy; not to know what +we speak one to another, so we seem to know, is to know straight our +purpose: choughs’ language, gabble enough, and good enough. As for you, +interpreter, you must seem very politic. But couch, ho! Here he comes; +to beguile two hours in a sleep, and then to return and swear the lies +he forges. + + Enter Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +Ten o’clock. Within these three hours ’twill be time enough to go home. +What shall I say I have done? It must be a very plausive invention that +carries it. They begin to smoke me, and disgraces have of late knock’d +too often at my door. I find my tongue is too foolhardy, but my heart +hath the fear of Mars before it, and of his creatures, not daring the +reports of my tongue. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] This is the first truth that e’er thine own tongue was +guilty of. + +PAROLLES. +What the devil should move me to undertake the recovery of this drum, +being not ignorant of the impossibility, and knowing I had no such +purpose? I must give myself some hurts, and say I got them in exploit; +yet slight ones will not carry it. They will say “Came you off with so +little?” and great ones I dare not give. Wherefore, what’s the +instance? Tongue, I must put you into a butter-woman’s mouth, and buy +myself another of Bajazet’s mule, if you prattle me into these perils. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] Is it possible he should know what he is, and be that he is? + +PAROLLES. +I would the cutting of my garments would serve the turn, or the +breaking of my Spanish sword. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] We cannot afford you so. + +PAROLLES. +Or the baring of my beard, and to say it was in stratagem. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] ’Twould not do. + +PAROLLES. +Or to drown my clothes, and say I was stripped. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] Hardly serve. + +PAROLLES. +Though I swore I leap’d from the window of the citadel,— + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] How deep? + +PAROLLES. +Thirty fathom. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] Three great oaths would scarce make that be believed. + +PAROLLES. +I would I had any drum of the enemy’s; I would swear I recover’d it. + +FIRST LORD. +[_Aside._] You shall hear one anon. + +PAROLLES. +A drum now of the enemy’s! + + [_Alarum within._] + +FIRST LORD. +_Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo._ + +ALL. +_Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo._ + + [_They seize and blindfold him._] + +PAROLLES. +O, ransom, ransom! Do not hide mine eyes. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Boskos thromuldo boskos._ + +PAROLLES. +I know you are the Muskos’ regiment, +And I shall lose my life for want of language. +If there be here German, or Dane, Low Dutch, +Italian, or French, let him speak to me, +I’ll discover that which shall undo the Florentine. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Boskos vauvado._ I understand thee, and can speak thy tongue. +_Kerelybonto._ Sir, Betake thee to thy faith, for seventeen poniards +are at thy bosom. + +PAROLLES. +O! + +FIRST SOLDIER. +O, pray, pray, pray! +_Manka revania dulche._ + +FIRST LORD. +_Oscorbidulchos volivorco._ + +FIRST SOLDIER. +The General is content to spare thee yet; +And, hoodwink’d as thou art, will lead thee on +To gather from thee. Haply thou mayst inform +Something to save thy life. + +PAROLLES. +O, let me live, +And all the secrets of our camp I’ll show, +Their force, their purposes; nay, I’ll speak that +Which you will wonder at. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +But wilt thou faithfully? + +PAROLLES. +If I do not, damn me. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Acordo linta._ +Come on; thou art granted space. + + [_Exit, with Parolles guarded._] + + A short alarum within. + +FIRST LORD. +Go tell the Count Rossillon and my brother +We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled +Till we do hear from them. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Captain, I will. + +FIRST LORD. +’A will betray us all unto ourselves; +Inform on that. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +So I will, sir. + +FIRST LORD. +Till then I’ll keep him dark, and safely lock’d. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + Enter Bertram and Diana. + +BERTRAM. +They told me that your name was Fontybell. + +DIANA. +No, my good lord, Diana. + +BERTRAM. +Titled goddess; +And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, +In your fine frame hath love no quality? +If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, +You are no maiden but a monument; +When you are dead, you should be such a one +As you are now; for you are cold and stern, +And now you should be as your mother was +When your sweet self was got. + +DIANA. +She then was honest. + +BERTRAM. +So should you be. + +DIANA. +No. +My mother did but duty; such, my lord, +As you owe to your wife. + +BERTRAM. +No more a’ that! +I pr’ythee do not strive against my vows; +I was compell’d to her; but I love thee +By love’s own sweet constraint, and will for ever +Do thee all rights of service. + +DIANA. +Ay, so you serve us +Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, +You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, +And mock us with our bareness. + +BERTRAM. +How have I sworn? + +DIANA. +’Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, +But the plain single vow that is vow’d true. +What is not holy, that we swear not by, +But take the highest to witness: then, pray you, tell me, +If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes +I lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths +When I did love you ill? This has no holding, +To swear by him whom I protest to love +That I will work against him. Therefore your oaths +Are words and poor conditions; but unseal’d,— +At least in my opinion. + +BERTRAM. +Change it, change it. +Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy; +And my integrity ne’er knew the crafts +That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, +But give thyself unto my sick desires, +Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever +My love as it begins shall so persever. + +DIANA. +I see that men make hopes in such a case, +That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring. + +BERTRAM. +I’ll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power +To give it from me. + +DIANA. +Will you not, my lord? + +BERTRAM. +It is an honour ’longing to our house, +Bequeathed down from many ancestors, +Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world +In me to lose. + +DIANA. +Mine honour’s such a ring; +My chastity’s the jewel of our house, +Bequeathed down from many ancestors, +Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world +In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom +Brings in the champion honour on my part +Against your vain assault. + +BERTRAM. +Here, take my ring; +My house, mine honour, yea, my life be thine, +And I’ll be bid by thee. + +DIANA. +When midnight comes, knock at my chamber window; +I’ll order take my mother shall not hear. +Now will I charge you in the band of truth, +When you have conquer’d my yet maiden-bed, +Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me. +My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them +When back again this ring shall be deliver’d; +And on your finger in the night, I’ll put +Another ring, that what in time proceeds +May token to the future our past deeds. +Adieu till then; then fail not. You have won +A wife of me, though there my hope be done. + +BERTRAM. +A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee. + + [_Exit._] + +DIANA. +For which live long to thank both heaven and me! +You may so in the end. +My mother told me just how he would woo, +As if she sat in’s heart. She says all men +Have the like oaths. He had sworn to marry me +When his wife’s dead; therefore I’ll lie with him +When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, +Marry that will, I live and die a maid. +Only, in this disguise, I think’t no sin +To cozen him that would unjustly win. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE III. The Florentine camp. + + Enter the two French Lords and two or three Soldiers. + +FIRST LORD. +You have not given him his mother’s letter? + +SECOND LORD. +I have deliv’red it an hour since; there is something in’t that stings +his nature; for on the reading it, he chang’d almost into another man. + +FIRST LORD. +He has much worthy blame laid upon him for shaking off so good a wife +and so sweet a lady. + +SECOND LORD. +Especially he hath incurred the everlasting displeasure of the king, +who had even tun’d his bounty to sing happiness to him. I will tell you +a thing, but you shall let it dwell darkly with you. + +FIRST LORD. +When you have spoken it, ’tis dead, and I am the grave of it. + +SECOND LORD. +He hath perverted a young gentlewoman here in Florence, of a most +chaste renown, and this night he fleshes his will in the spoil of her +honour; he hath given her his monumental ring, and thinks himself made +in the unchaste composition. + +FIRST LORD. +Now, God delay our rebellion! As we are ourselves, what things are we! + +SECOND LORD. +Merely our own traitors. And as in the common course of all treasons, +we still see them reveal themselves till they attain to their abhorr’d +ends; so he that in this action contrives against his own nobility, in +his proper stream, o’erflows himself. + +FIRST LORD. +Is it not meant damnable in us to be trumpeters of our unlawful +intents? We shall not then have his company tonight? + +SECOND LORD. +Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour. + +FIRST LORD. +That approaches apace. I would gladly have him see his company +anatomized, that he might take a measure of his own judgments, wherein +so curiously he had set this counterfeit. + +SECOND LORD. +We will not meddle with him till he come; for his presence must be the +whip of the other. + +FIRST LORD. +In the meantime, what hear you of these wars? + +SECOND LORD. +I hear there is an overture of peace. + +FIRST LORD. +Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded. + +SECOND LORD. +What will Count Rossillon do then? Will he travel higher, or return +again into France? + +FIRST LORD. +I perceive by this demand, you are not altogether of his council. + +SECOND LORD. +Let it be forbid, sir! So should I be a great deal of his act. + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his house. Her pretence +is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques le Grand; which holy undertaking with +most austere sanctimony she accomplished; and there residing, the +tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her grief; in fine, made a +groan of her last breath, and now she sings in heaven. + +SECOND LORD. +How is this justified? + +FIRST LORD. +The stronger part of it by her own letters, which makes her story true, +even to the point of her death. Her death itself, which could not be +her office to say is come, was faithfully confirm’d by the rector of +the place. + +SECOND LORD. +Hath the count all this intelligence? + +FIRST LORD. +Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from point, to the full +arming of the verity. + +SECOND LORD. +I am heartily sorry that he’ll be glad of this. + +FIRST LORD. +How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses! + +SECOND LORD. +And how mightily some other times we drown our gain in tears! The great +dignity that his valour hath here acquir’d for him shall at home be +encountered with a shame as ample. + +FIRST LORD. +The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our +virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes +would despair if they were not cherish’d by our virtues. + + Enter a Messenger. + +How now? Where’s your master? + +MESSENGER. +He met the duke in the street, sir; of whom he hath taken a solemn +leave: his lordship will next morning for France. The duke hath offered +him letters of commendations to the king. + +SECOND LORD. +They shall be no more than needful there, if they were more than they +can commend. + + Enter Bertram. + +FIRST LORD. +They cannot be too sweet for the king’s tartness. Here’s his lordship +now. How now, my lord, is’t not after midnight? + +BERTRAM. +I have tonight despatch’d sixteen businesses, a month’s length apiece; +by an abstract of success: I have congied with the duke, done my adieu +with his nearest; buried a wife, mourn’d for her, writ to my lady +mother I am returning, entertained my convoy, and between these main +parcels of despatch effected many nicer needs: the last was the +greatest, but that I have not ended yet. + +SECOND LORD. +If the business be of any difficulty and this morning your departure +hence, it requires haste of your lordship. + +BERTRAM. +I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter. +But shall we have this dialogue between the Fool and the Soldier? Come, +bring forth this counterfeit module has deceiv’d me like a +double-meaning prophesier. + +SECOND LORD. +Bring him forth. + + [_Exeunt Soldiers._] + +Has sat i’ the stocks all night, poor gallant knave. + +BERTRAM. +No matter; his heels have deserv’d it, in usurping his spurs so long. +How does he carry himself? + +FIRST LORD. +I have told your lordship already; the stocks carry him. But to answer +you as you would be understood: he weeps like a wench that had shed her +milk; he hath confessed himself to Morgan, whom he supposes to be a +friar, from the time of his remembrance to this very instant disaster +of his setting i’ the stocks. And what think you he hath confessed? + +BERTRAM. +Nothing of me, has he? + +SECOND LORD. +His confession is taken, and it shall be read to his face; if your +lordship be in’t, as I believe you are, you must have the patience to +hear it. + + Enter Soldiers with Parolles. + +BERTRAM. +A plague upon him! muffled! he can say nothing of me; hush, hush! + +FIRST LORD. +Hoodman comes! _Portotartarossa._ + +FIRST SOLDIER. +He calls for the tortures. What will you say without ’em? + +PAROLLES. +I will confess what I know without constraint. If ye pinch me like a +pasty I can say no more. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +_Bosko chimurcho._ + +FIRST LORD. +_Boblibindo chicurmurco._ + +FIRST SOLDIER. +You are a merciful general. Our general bids you answer to what I shall +ask you out of a note. + +PAROLLES. +And truly, as I hope to live. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +‘First demand of him how many horse the duke is strong.’ What say you +to that? + +PAROLLES. +Five or six thousand; but very weak and unserviceable: the troops are +all scattered, and the commanders very poor rogues, upon my reputation +and credit, and as I hope to live. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Shall I set down your answer so? + +PAROLLES. +Do. I’ll take the sacrament on ’t, how and which way you will. + +BERTRAM. +All’s one to him. What a past-saving slave is this! + +FIRST LORD. +You are deceived, my lord; this is Monsieur Parolles, the gallant +militarist (that was his own phrase), that had the whole theoric of war +in the knot of his scarf, and the practice in the chape of his dagger. + +SECOND LORD. +I will never trust a man again for keeping his sword clean, nor believe +he can have everything in him by wearing his apparel neatly. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, that’s set down. + +PAROLLES. +‘Five or six thousand horse’ I said—I will say true—or thereabouts, set +down,—for I’ll speak truth. + +FIRST LORD. +He’s very near the truth in this. + +BERTRAM. +But I con him no thanks for’t in the nature he delivers it. + +PAROLLES. +Poor rogues, I pray you say. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, that’s set down. + +PAROLLES. +I humbly thank you, sir; a truth’s a truth, the rogues are marvellous +poor. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +‘Demand of him of what strength they are a-foot.’ What say you to that? + +PAROLLES. +By my troth, sir, if I were to live this present hour, I will tell +true. Let me see: Spurio, a hundred and fifty, Sebastian, so many; +Corambus, so many; Jaques, so many; Guiltian, Cosmo, Lodowick, and +Gratii, two hundred fifty each; mine own company, Chitopher, Vaumond, +Bentii, two hundred fifty each: so that the muster-file, rotten and +sound, upon my life, amounts not to fifteen thousand poll; half of the +which dare not shake the snow from off their cassocks lest they shake +themselves to pieces. + +BERTRAM. +What shall be done to him? + +FIRST LORD. +Nothing, but let him have thanks. Demand of him my condition, and what +credit I have with the duke. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, that’s set down. ‘You shall demand of him whether one Captain +Dumaine be i’ the camp, a Frenchman; what his reputation is with the +duke, what his valour, honesty and expertness in wars; or whether he +thinks it were not possible with well-weighing sums of gold to corrupt +him to a revolt.’ What say you to this? What do you know of it? + +PAROLLES. +I beseech you, let me answer to the particular of the inter’gatories. +Demand them singly. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Do you know this Captain Dumaine? + +PAROLLES. +I know him: he was a botcher’s ’prentice in Paris, from whence he was +whipped for getting the shrieve’s fool with child, a dumb innocent that +could not say him nay. + + [_First Lord lifts up his hand in anger._] + +BERTRAM. +Nay, by your leave, hold your hands; though I know his brains are +forfeit to the next tile that falls. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, is this captain in the Duke of Florence’s camp? + +PAROLLES. +Upon my knowledge, he is, and lousy. + +FIRST LORD. +Nay, look not so upon me; we shall hear of your lordship anon. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What is his reputation with the duke? + +PAROLLES. +The duke knows him for no other but a poor officer of mine, and writ to +me this other day to turn him out o’ the band. I think I have his +letter in my pocket. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Marry, we’ll search. + +PAROLLES. +In good sadness, I do not know; either it is there or it is upon a +file, with the duke’s other letters, in my tent. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Here ’tis; here’s a paper; shall I read it to you? + +PAROLLES. +I do not know if it be it or no. + +BERTRAM. +Our interpreter does it well. + +FIRST LORD. +Excellently. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +[_Reads._] _Dian, the Count’s a fool, and full of gold._ + +PAROLLES. +That is not the duke’s letter, sir; that is an advertisement to a +proper maid in Florence, one Diana, to take heed of the allurement of +one Count Rossillon, a foolish idle boy, but for all that very ruttish. +I pray you, sir, put it up again. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Nay, I’ll read it first by your favour. + +PAROLLES. +My meaning in’t, I protest, was very honest in the behalf of the maid; +for I knew the young count to be a dangerous and lascivious boy, who is +a whale to virginity, and devours up all the fry it finds. + +BERTRAM. +Damnable both sides rogue! + +FIRST SOLDIER. +[_Reads._] +_When he swears oaths, bid him drop gold, and take it; +After he scores, he never pays the score. +Half won is match well made; match, and well make it; +He ne’er pays after-debts, take it before. +And say a soldier, ‘Dian,’ told thee this: +Men are to mell with, boys are not to kiss; +For count of this, the count’s a fool, I know it, +Who pays before, but not when he does owe it. +Thine, as he vow’d to thee in thine ear,_ + PAROLLES. + +BERTRAM. +He shall be whipped through the army with this rhyme in’s forehead. + +SECOND LORD. +This is your devoted friend, sir, the manifold linguist, and the +armipotent soldier. + +BERTRAM. +I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he’s a cat to me. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +I perceive, sir, by our general’s looks we shall be fain to hang you. + +PAROLLES. +My life, sir, in any case. Not that I am afraid to die, but that, my +offences being many, I would repent out the remainder of nature. Let me +live, sir, in a dungeon, i’ the stocks, or anywhere, so I may live. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +We’ll see what may be done, so you confess freely. Therefore, once more +to this Captain Dumaine: you have answer’d to his reputation with the +duke, and to his valour. What is his honesty? + +PAROLLES. +He will steal, sir, an egg out of a cloister: for rapes and ravishments +he parallels Nessus. He professes not keeping of oaths; in breaking +them he is stronger than Hercules. He will lie, sir, with such +volubility that you would think truth were a fool: drunkenness is his +best virtue, for he will be swine-drunk, and in his sleep he does +little harm, save to his bedclothes about him; but they know his +conditions and lay him in straw. I have but little more to say, sir, of +his honesty; he has everything that an honest man should not have; what +an honest man should have, he has nothing. + +FIRST LORD. +I begin to love him for this. + +BERTRAM. +For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he’s more +and more a cat. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What say you to his expertness in war? + +PAROLLES. +Faith, sir, has led the drum before the English tragedians,—to belie +him I will not,—and more of his soldiership I know not, except in that +country he had the honour to be the officer at a place there called +Mile-end, to instruct for the doubling of files. I would do the man +what honour I can, but of this I am not certain. + +FIRST LORD. +He hath out-villain’d villainy so far that the rarity redeems him. + +BERTRAM. +A pox on him! He’s a cat still. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +His qualities being at this poor price, I need not to ask you if gold +will corrupt him to revolt. + +PAROLLES. +Sir, for a quart d’ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, +the inheritance of it, and cut the entail from all remainders, and a +perpetual succession for it perpetually. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What’s his brother, the other Captain Dumaine? + +SECOND LORD. +Why does he ask him of me? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +What’s he? + +PAROLLES. +E’en a crow o’ the same nest; not altogether so great as the first in +goodness, but greater a great deal in evil. He excels his brother for a +coward, yet his brother is reputed one of the best that is. In a +retreat he outruns any lackey; marry, in coming on he has the cramp. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +If your life be saved, will you undertake to betray the Florentine? + +PAROLLES. +Ay, and the captain of his horse, Count Rossillon. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +I’ll whisper with the general, and know his pleasure. + +PAROLLES. +[_Aside._] I’ll no more drumming; a plague of all drums! Only to seem +to deserve well, and to beguile the supposition of that lascivious +young boy the count, have I run into this danger: yet who would have +suspected an ambush where I was taken? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +There is no remedy, sir, but you must die. The general says you that +have so traitorously discovered the secrets of your army, and made such +pestiferous reports of men very nobly held, can serve the world for no +honest use; therefore you must die. Come, headsman, off with his head. + +PAROLLES. +O Lord! sir, let me live, or let me see my death. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +That shall you, and take your leave of all your friends. + + [_Unmuffling him._] + +So, look about you; know you any here? + +BERTRAM. +Good morrow, noble captain. + +SECOND LORD. +God bless you, Captain Parolles. + +FIRST LORD. +God save you, noble captain. + +SECOND LORD. +Captain, what greeting will you to my Lord Lafew? I am for France. + +FIRST LORD. +Good Captain, will you give me a copy of the sonnet you writ to Diana +in behalf of the Count Rossillon? And I were not a very coward I’d +compel it of you; but fare you well. + + [_Exeunt Bertram, Lords &c._] + +FIRST SOLDIER. +You are undone, captain: all but your scarf; that has a knot on’t yet. + +PAROLLES. +Who cannot be crushed with a plot? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +If you could find out a country where but women were that had received +so much shame, you might begin an impudent nation. Fare ye well, sir. I +am for France too; we shall speak of you there. + + [_Exeunt._] + +PAROLLES. +Yet am I thankful. If my heart were great +’Twould burst at this. Captain I’ll be no more, +But I will eat, and drink, and sleep as soft +As captain shall. Simply the thing I am +Shall make me live. Who knows himself a braggart, +Let him fear this; for it will come to pass +That every braggart shall be found an ass. +Rust, sword; cool, blushes; and, Parolles live +Safest in shame; being fool’d, by foolery thrive. +There’s place and means for every man alive. +I’ll after them. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Florence. A room in the Widow’s house. + + Enter Helena, Widow and Diana. + +HELENA. +That you may well perceive I have not wrong’d you +One of the greatest in the Christian world +Shall be my surety; fore whose throne ’tis needful, +Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. +Time was I did him a desired office, +Dear almost as his life; which gratitude +Through flinty Tartar’s bosom would peep forth, +And answer thanks. I duly am inform’d +His grace is at Marseilles; to which place +We have convenient convoy. You must know +I am supposed dead. The army breaking, +My husband hies him home, where, heaven aiding, +And by the leave of my good lord the king, +We’ll be before our welcome. + +WIDOW. +Gentle madam, +You never had a servant to whose trust +Your business was more welcome. + +HELENA. +Nor you, mistress, +Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour +To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven +Hath brought me up to be your daughter’s dower, +As it hath fated her to be my motive +And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! +That can such sweet use make of what they hate, +When saucy trusting of the cozen’d thoughts +Defiles the pitchy night; so lust doth play +With what it loathes, for that which is away. +But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, +Under my poor instructions yet must suffer +Something in my behalf. + +DIANA. +Let death and honesty +Go with your impositions, I am yours +Upon your will to suffer. + +HELENA. +Yet, I pray you; +But with the word the time will bring on summer, +When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, +And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; +Our waggon is prepar’d, and time revives us. +All’s well that ends well; still the fine’s the crown. +Whate’er the course, the end is the renown. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Rossillon. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Clown, Countess and Lafew. + +LAFEW. +No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, +whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbak’d and doughy +youth of a nation in his colour. Your daughter-in-law had been alive at +this hour, and your son here at home, more advanc’d by the king than by +that red-tail’d humble-bee I speak of. + +COUNTESS. +I would I had not known him; it was the death of the most virtuous +gentlewoman that ever nature had praise for creating. If she had +partaken of my flesh and cost me the dearest groans of a mother, I +could not have owed her a more rooted love. + +LAFEW. +’Twas a good lady, ’twas a good lady. We may pick a thousand salads ere +we light on such another herb. + +CLOWN. +Indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or, rather, the +herb of grace. + +LAFEW. +They are not herbs, you knave; they are nose-herbs. + +CLOWN. +I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir; I have not much skill in grass. + +LAFEW. +Whether dost thou profess thyself,—a knave or a fool? + +CLOWN. +A fool, sir, at a woman’s service, and a knave at a man’s. + +LAFEW. +Your distinction? + +CLOWN. +I would cozen the man of his wife, and do his service. + +LAFEW. +So you were a knave at his service indeed. + +CLOWN. +And I would give his wife my bauble, sir, to do her service. + +LAFEW. +I will subscribe for thee; thou art both knave and fool. + +CLOWN. +At your service. + +LAFEW. +No, no, no. + +CLOWN. +Why, sir, if I cannot serve you, I can serve as great a prince as you +are. + +LAFEW. +Who’s that? a Frenchman? + +CLOWN. +Faith, sir, ’a has an English name; but his phisnomy is more hotter in +France than there. + +LAFEW. +What prince is that? + +CLOWN. +The black prince, sir; alias the prince of darkness; alias the devil. + +LAFEW. +Hold thee, there’s my purse. I give thee not this to suggest thee from +thy master thou talk’st of; serve him still. + +CLOWN. +I am a woodland fellow, sir, that always loved a great fire, and the +master I speak of ever keeps a good fire. But sure he is the prince of +the world; let his nobility remain in’s court. I am for the house with +the narrow gate, which I take to be too little for pomp to enter: some +that humble themselves may, but the many will be too chill and tender, +and they’ll be for the flow’ry way that leads to the broad gate and the +great fire. + +LAFEW. +Go thy ways, I begin to be a-weary of thee; and I tell thee so before, +because I would not fall out with thee. Go thy ways; let my horses be +well look’d to, without any tricks. + +CLOWN. +If I put any tricks upon ’em, sir, they shall be jades’ tricks, which +are their own right by the law of nature. + + [_Exit._] + +LAFEW. +A shrewd knave, and an unhappy. + +COUNTESS. +So he is. My lord that’s gone made himself much sport out of him; by +his authority he remains here, which he thinks is a patent for his +sauciness; and indeed he has no pace, but runs where he will. + +LAFEW. +I like him well; ’tis not amiss. And I was about to tell you, since I +heard of the good lady’s death, and that my lord your son was upon his +return home, I moved the king my master to speak in the behalf of my +daughter; which, in the minority of them both, his majesty out of a +self-gracious remembrance did first propose. His highness hath promis’d +me to do it; and, to stop up the displeasure he hath conceived against +your son, there is no fitter matter. How does your ladyship like it? + +COUNTESS. +With very much content, my lord, and I wish it happily effected. + +LAFEW. +His highness comes post from Marseilles, of as able body as when he +number’d thirty; he will be here tomorrow, or I am deceived by him that +in such intelligence hath seldom fail’d. + +COUNTESS. +It rejoices me that I hope I shall see him ere I die. I have letters +that my son will be here tonight. I shall beseech your lordship to +remain with me till they meet together. + +LAFEW. +Madam, I was thinking with what manners I might safely be admitted. + +COUNTESS. +You need but plead your honourable privilege. + +LAFEW. +Lady, of that I have made a bold charter; but, I thank my God, it holds +yet. + + Enter Clown. + +CLOWN. +O madam, yonder’s my lord your son with a patch of velvet on’s face; +whether there be a scar under’t or no, the velvet knows; but ’tis a +goodly patch of velvet. His left cheek is a cheek of two pile and a +half, but his right cheek is worn bare. + +LAFEW. +A scar nobly got, or a noble scar, is a good livery of honour; so +belike is that. + +CLOWN. +But it is your carbonado’d face. + +LAFEW. +Let us go see your son, I pray you. I long to talk with the young noble +soldier. + +CLOWN. +Faith, there’s a dozen of ’em, with delicate fine hats, and most +courteous feathers, which bow the head and nod at every man. + + [_Exeunt._] + + +ACT V. + +SCENE I. Marseilles. A street. + + Enter Helena, Widow and Diana with two Attendants. + +HELENA. +But this exceeding posting day and night +Must wear your spirits low. We cannot help it. +But since you have made the days and nights as one, +To wear your gentle limbs in my affairs, +Be bold you do so grow in my requital +As nothing can unroot you. In happy time;— + + Enter a Gentleman. + +This man may help me to his majesty’s ear, +If he would spend his power. God save you, sir. + +GENTLEMAN. +And you. + +HELENA. +Sir, I have seen you in the court of France. + +GENTLEMAN. +I have been sometimes there. + +HELENA. +I do presume, sir, that you are not fallen +From the report that goes upon your goodness; +And therefore, goaded with most sharp occasions, +Which lay nice manners by, I put you to +The use of your own virtues, for the which +I shall continue thankful. + +GENTLEMAN. +What’s your will? + +HELENA. +That it will please you +To give this poor petition to the king, +And aid me with that store of power you have +To come into his presence. + +GENTLEMAN. +The king’s not here. + +HELENA. +Not here, sir? + +GENTLEMAN. +Not indeed. +He hence remov’d last night, and with more haste +Than is his use. + +WIDOW. +Lord, how we lose our pains! + +HELENA. +All’s well that ends well yet, +Though time seem so adverse and means unfit. +I do beseech you, whither is he gone? + +GENTLEMAN. +Marry, as I take it, to Rossillon; +Whither I am going. + +HELENA. +I do beseech you, sir, +Since you are like to see the king before me, +Commend the paper to his gracious hand, +Which I presume shall render you no blame, +But rather make you thank your pains for it. +I will come after you with what good speed +Our means will make us means. + +GENTLEMAN. +This I’ll do for you. + +HELENA. +And you shall find yourself to be well thank’d, +Whate’er falls more. We must to horse again. +Go, go, provide. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rossillon. The inner court of the Countess’s palace. + + Enter Clown and Parolles. + +PAROLLES. +Good Monsieur Lavache, give my Lord Lafew this letter; I have ere now, +sir, been better known to you, when I have held familiarity with +fresher clothes; but I am now, sir, muddied in Fortune’s mood, and +smell somewhat strong of her strong displeasure. + +CLOWN. +Truly, Fortune’s displeasure is but sluttish, if it smell so strongly +as thou speak’st of. I will henceforth eat no fish of Fortune’s +buttering. Pr’ythee, allow the wind. + +PAROLLES. +Nay, you need not to stop your nose, sir. I spake but by a metaphor. + +CLOWN. +Indeed, sir, if your metaphor stink, I will stop my nose, or against +any man’s metaphor. Pr’ythee, get thee further. + +PAROLLES. +Pray you, sir, deliver me this paper. + +CLOWN. +Foh, pr’ythee stand away. A paper from Fortune’s close-stool to give to +a nobleman! Look here he comes himself. + + Enter Lafew. + +Here is a pur of Fortune’s, sir, or of Fortune’s cat, but not a +musk-cat, that has fallen into the unclean fishpond of her displeasure, +and as he says, is muddied withal. Pray you, sir, use the carp as you +may, for he looks like a poor, decayed, ingenious, foolish, rascally +knave. I do pity his distress in my similes of comfort, and leave him +to your lordship. + + [_Exit._] + +PAROLLES. +My lord, I am a man whom Fortune hath cruelly scratch’d. + +LAFEW. +And what would you have me to do? ’Tis too late to pare her nails now. +Wherein have you played the knave with Fortune that she should scratch +you, who of herself is a good lady, and would not have knaves thrive +long under her? There’s a quart d’ecu for you. Let the justices make +you and Fortune friends; I am for other business. + +PAROLLES. +I beseech your honour to hear me one single word. + +LAFEW. +You beg a single penny more. Come, you shall ha’t; save your word. + +PAROLLES. +My name, my good lord, is Parolles. + +LAFEW. +You beg more than word then. Cox my passion! Give me your hand. How +does your drum? + +PAROLLES. +O my good lord, you were the first that found me. + +LAFEW. +Was I, in sooth? And I was the first that lost thee. + +PAROLLES. +It lies in you, my lord, to bring me in some grace, for you did bring +me out. + +LAFEW. +Out upon thee, knave! dost thou put upon me at once both the office of +God and the devil? One brings thee in grace, and the other brings thee +out. + + [_Trumpets sound._] + +The king’s coming; I know by his trumpets. Sirrah, inquire further +after me. I had talk of you last night; though you are a fool and a +knave, you shall eat. Go to; follow. + +PAROLLES. +I praise God for you. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same. A room in the Countess’s palace. + + Flourish. Enter King, Countess, Lafew, Lords, Gentlemen, Guards &c. + +KING. +We lost a jewel of her, and our esteem +Was made much poorer by it; but your son, +As mad in folly, lack’d the sense to know +Her estimation home. + +COUNTESS. +’Tis past, my liege, +And I beseech your majesty to make it +Natural rebellion, done i’ the blaze of youth, +When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force, +O’erbears it and burns on. + +KING. +My honour’d lady, +I have forgiven and forgotten all, +Though my revenges were high bent upon him, +And watch’d the time to shoot. + +LAFEW. +This I must say,— +But first, I beg my pardon,—the young lord +Did to his majesty, his mother, and his lady, +Offence of mighty note; but to himself +The greatest wrong of all. He lost a wife +Whose beauty did astonish the survey +Of richest eyes; whose words all ears took captive; +Whose dear perfection hearts that scorn’d to serve +Humbly call’d mistress. + +KING. +Praising what is lost +Makes the remembrance dear. Well, call him hither; +We are reconcil’d, and the first view shall kill +All repetition. Let him not ask our pardon; +The nature of his great offence is dead, +And deeper than oblivion do we bury +Th’ incensing relics of it. Let him approach +A stranger, no offender; and inform him +So ’tis our will he should. + +GENTLEMAN. +I shall, my liege. + + [_Exit Gentleman._] + +KING. +What says he to your daughter? Have you spoke? + +LAFEW. +All that he is hath reference to your highness. + +KING. +Then shall we have a match. I have letters sent me +That sets him high in fame. + + Enter Bertram. + +LAFEW. +He looks well on ’t. + +KING. +I am not a day of season, +For thou mayst see a sunshine and a hail +In me at once. But to the brightest beams +Distracted clouds give way; so stand thou forth; +The time is fair again. + +BERTRAM. +My high-repented blames +Dear sovereign, pardon to me. + +KING. +All is whole. +Not one word more of the consumed time. +Let’s take the instant by the forward top; +For we are old, and on our quick’st decrees +Th’inaudible and noiseless foot of time +Steals ere we can effect them. You remember +The daughter of this lord? + +BERTRAM. +Admiringly, my liege. At first +I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart +Durst make too bold herald of my tongue: +Where the impression of mine eye infixing, +Contempt his scornful perspective did lend me, +Which warp’d the line of every other favour, +Scorn’d a fair colour, or express’d it stolen, +Extended or contracted all proportions +To a most hideous object. Thence it came +That she whom all men prais’d, and whom myself, +Since I have lost, have lov’d, was in mine eye +The dust that did offend it. + +KING. +Well excus’d: +That thou didst love her, strikes some scores away +From the great compt: but love that comes too late, +Like a remorseful pardon slowly carried, +To the great sender turns a sour offence, +Crying, That’s good that’s gone. Our rash faults +Make trivial price of serious things we have, +Not knowing them until we know their grave. +Oft our displeasures, to ourselves unjust, +Destroy our friends, and after weep their dust: +Our own love waking cries to see what’s done, +While shameful hate sleeps out the afternoon. +Be this sweet Helen’s knell, and now forget her. +Send forth your amorous token for fair Maudlin. +The main consents are had, and here we’ll stay +To see our widower’s second marriage-day. + +COUNTESS. +Which better than the first, O dear heaven, bless! +Or, ere they meet, in me, O nature, cesse! + +LAFEW. +Come on, my son, in whom my house’s name +Must be digested; give a favour from you, +To sparkle in the spirits of my daughter, +That she may quickly come. + + [_Bertram gives a ring to Lafew._] + +By my old beard, +And ev’ry hair that’s on ’t, Helen that’s dead +Was a sweet creature: such a ring as this, +The last that e’er I took her leave at court, +I saw upon her finger. + +BERTRAM. +Hers it was not. + +KING. +Now, pray you, let me see it; for mine eye, +While I was speaking, oft was fasten’d to it. +This ring was mine; and when I gave it Helen +I bade her, if her fortunes ever stood +Necessitied to help, that by this token +I would relieve her. Had you that craft to ’reave her +Of what should stead her most? + +BERTRAM. +My gracious sovereign, +Howe’er it pleases you to take it so, +The ring was never hers. + +COUNTESS. +Son, on my life, +I have seen her wear it; and she reckon’d it +At her life’s rate. + +LAFEW. +I am sure I saw her wear it. + +BERTRAM. +You are deceiv’d, my lord; she never saw it. +In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, +Wrapp’d in a paper, which contain’d the name +Of her that threw it. Noble she was, and thought +I stood engag’d; but when I had subscrib’d +To mine own fortune, and inform’d her fully +I could not answer in that course of honour +As she had made the overture, she ceas’d, +In heavy satisfaction, and would never +Receive the ring again. + +KING. +Plutus himself, +That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine, +Hath not in nature’s mystery more science +Than I have in this ring. ’Twas mine, ’twas Helen’s, +Whoever gave it you. Then if you know +That you are well acquainted with yourself, +Confess ’twas hers, and by what rough enforcement +You got it from her. She call’d the saints to surety +That she would never put it from her finger +Unless she gave it to yourself in bed, +Where you have never come, or sent it us +Upon her great disaster. + +BERTRAM. +She never saw it. + +KING. +Thou speak’st it falsely, as I love mine honour, +And mak’st conjectural fears to come into me +Which I would fain shut out. If it should prove +That thou art so inhuman,—’twill not prove so: +And yet I know not, thou didst hate her deadly. +And she is dead; which nothing but to close +Her eyes myself, could win me to believe +More than to see this ring. Take him away. + + [_Guards seize Bertram._] + +My fore-past proofs, howe’er the matter fall, +Shall tax my fears of little vanity, +Having vainly fear’d too little. Away with him. +We’ll sift this matter further. + +BERTRAM. +If you shall prove +This ring was ever hers, you shall as easy +Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, +Where she yet never was. + + [_Exit, guarded._] + +KING. +I am wrapp’d in dismal thinkings. + + Enter a Gentleman. + +GENTLEMAN. +Gracious sovereign, +Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not: +Here’s a petition from a Florentine, +Who hath for four or five removes come short +To tender it herself. I undertook it, +Vanquish’d thereto by the fair grace and speech +Of the poor suppliant, who by this, I know, +Is here attending: her business looks in her +With an importing visage, and she told me +In a sweet verbal brief, it did concern +Your highness with herself. + +KING. +[_Reads._] _Upon his many protestations to marry me when his wife was +dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Now is the Count Rossillon a +widower; his vows are forfeited to me, and my honour’s paid to him. He +stole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to his country +for justice. Grant it me, O king, in you it best lies; otherwise a +seducer flourishes, and a poor maid is undone._ + DIANA CAPILET. + +LAFEW. +I will buy me a son-in-law in a fair, and toll for this. I’ll none of +him. + +KING. +The heavens have thought well on thee, Lafew, +To bring forth this discovery. Seek these suitors. +Go speedily, and bring again the count. + + [_Exeunt Gentleman and some Attendants._] + +I am afeard the life of Helen, lady, +Was foully snatch’d. + +COUNTESS. +Now, justice on the doers! + + Enter Bertram, guarded. + +KING. +I wonder, sir, since wives are monsters to you, +And that you fly them as you swear them lordship, +Yet you desire to marry. What woman’s that? + + Enter Widow and Diana. + +DIANA. +I am, my lord, a wretched Florentine, +Derived from the ancient Capilet; +My suit, as I do understand, you know, +And therefore know how far I may be pitied. + +WIDOW. +I am her mother, sir, whose age and honour +Both suffer under this complaint we bring, +And both shall cease, without your remedy. + +KING. +Come hither, count; do you know these women? + +BERTRAM. +My lord, I neither can nor will deny +But that I know them. Do they charge me further? + +DIANA. +Why do you look so strange upon your wife? + +BERTRAM. +She’s none of mine, my lord. + +DIANA. +If you shall marry, +You give away this hand, and that is mine, +You give away heaven’s vows, and those are mine, +You give away myself, which is known mine; +For I by vow am so embodied yours +That she which marries you must marry me, +Either both or none. + +LAFEW. +[_To Bertram_] Your reputation comes too short for my daughter; you are +no husband for her. + +BERTRAM. +My lord, this is a fond and desperate creature +Whom sometime I have laugh’d with. Let your highness +Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour +Than for to think that I would sink it here. + +KING. +Sir, for my thoughts, you have them ill to friend +Till your deeds gain them; fairer prove your honour +Than in my thought it lies! + +DIANA. +Good my lord, +Ask him upon his oath, if he does think +He had not my virginity. + +KING. +What say’st thou to her? + +BERTRAM. +She’s impudent, my lord, +And was a common gamester to the camp. + +DIANA. +He does me wrong, my lord; if I were so +He might have bought me at a common price. +Do not believe him. O, behold this ring, +Whose high respect and rich validity +Did lack a parallel; yet for all that +He gave it to a commoner o’ the camp, +If I be one. + +COUNTESS. +He blushes, and ’tis it. +Of six preceding ancestors, that gem +Conferr’d by testament to th’ sequent issue, +Hath it been owed and worn. This is his wife; +That ring’s a thousand proofs. + +KING. +Methought you said +You saw one here in court could witness it. + +DIANA. +I did, my lord, but loath am to produce +So bad an instrument; his name’s Parolles. + +LAFEW. +I saw the man today, if man he be. + +KING. +Find him, and bring him hither. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +BERTRAM. +What of him? +He’s quoted for a most perfidious slave, +With all the spots o’ the world tax’d and debauch’d: +Whose nature sickens but to speak a truth. +Am I or that or this for what he’ll utter, +That will speak anything? + +KING. +She hath that ring of yours. + +BERTRAM. +I think she has. Certain it is I lik’d her +And boarded her i’ the wanton way of youth. +She knew her distance, and did angle for me, +Madding my eagerness with her restraint, +As all impediments in fancy’s course +Are motives of more fancy; and in fine, +Her infinite cunning with her modern grace, +Subdu’d me to her rate; she got the ring, +And I had that which any inferior might +At market-price have bought. + +DIANA. +I must be patient. +You that have turn’d off a first so noble wife +May justly diet me. I pray you yet,— +Since you lack virtue, I will lose a husband— +Send for your ring, I will return it home, +And give me mine again. + +BERTRAM. +I have it not. + +KING. +What ring was yours, I pray you? + +DIANA. +Sir, much like +The same upon your finger. + +KING. +Know you this ring? This ring was his of late. + +DIANA. +And this was it I gave him, being abed. + +KING. +The story then goes false you threw it him +Out of a casement. + +DIANA. +I have spoke the truth. + + Enter Attendant with Parolles. + +BERTRAM. +My lord, I do confess the ring was hers. + +KING. +You boggle shrewdly; every feather starts you. +Is this the man you speak of? + +DIANA. +Ay, my lord. + +KING. +Tell me, sirrah, but tell me true I charge you, +Not fearing the displeasure of your master, +Which on your just proceeding, I’ll keep off,— +By him and by this woman here what know you? + +PAROLLES. +So please your majesty, my master hath been an honourable gentleman. +Tricks he hath had in him, which gentlemen have. + +KING. +Come, come, to the purpose. Did he love this woman? + +PAROLLES. +Faith, sir, he did love her; but how? + +KING. +How, I pray you? + +PAROLLES. +He did love her, sir, as a gentleman loves a woman. + +KING. +How is that? + +PAROLLES. +He lov’d her, sir, and lov’d her not. + +KING. +As thou art a knave and no knave. +What an equivocal companion is this! + +PAROLLES. +I am a poor man, and at your majesty’s command. + +LAFEW. +He’s a good drum, my lord, but a naughty orator. + +DIANA. +Do you know he promised me marriage? + +PAROLLES. +Faith, I know more than I’ll speak. + +KING. +But wilt thou not speak all thou know’st? + +PAROLLES. +Yes, so please your majesty. I did go between them as I said; but more +than that, he loved her, for indeed he was mad for her, and talked of +Satan, and of Limbo, and of furies, and I know not what: yet I was in +that credit with them at that time that I knew of their going to bed; +and of other motions, as promising her marriage, and things which would +derive me ill will to speak of; therefore I will not speak what I know. + +KING. +Thou hast spoken all already, unless thou canst say they are married; +but thou art too fine in thy evidence; therefore stand aside. This +ring, you say, was yours? + +DIANA. +Ay, my good lord. + +KING. +Where did you buy it? Or who gave it you? + +DIANA. +It was not given me, nor I did not buy it. + +KING. +Who lent it you? + +DIANA. +It was not lent me neither. + +KING. +Where did you find it then? + +DIANA. +I found it not. + +KING. +If it were yours by none of all these ways, +How could you give it him? + +DIANA. +I never gave it him. + +LAFEW. +This woman’s an easy glove, my lord; she goes off and on at pleasure. + +KING. +This ring was mine, I gave it his first wife. + +DIANA. +It might be yours or hers for ought I know. + +KING. +Take her away, I do not like her now. +To prison with her. And away with him. +Unless thou tell’st me where thou hadst this ring, +Thou diest within this hour. + +DIANA. +I’ll never tell you. + +KING. +Take her away. + +DIANA. +I’ll put in bail, my liege. + +KING. +I think thee now some common customer. + +DIANA. +By Jove, if ever I knew man, ’twas you. + +KING. +Wherefore hast thou accus’d him all this while? + +DIANA. +Because he’s guilty, and he is not guilty. +He knows I am no maid, and he’ll swear to’t: +I’ll swear I am a maid, and he knows not. +Great King, I am no strumpet, by my life; +I am either maid, or else this old man’s wife. + + [_Pointing to Lafew._] + +KING. +She does abuse our ears; to prison with her. + +DIANA. +Good mother, fetch my bail. Stay, royal sir; + + [_Exit Widow._] + +The jeweller that owes the ring is sent for, +And he shall surety me. But for this lord +Who hath abus’d me as he knows himself, +Though yet he never harm’d me, here I quit him. +He knows himself my bed he hath defil’d; +And at that time he got his wife with child. +Dead though she be, she feels her young one kick; +So there’s my riddle: one that’s dead is quick, +And now behold the meaning. + + Enter Widow with Helena. + +KING. +Is there no exorcist +Beguiles the truer office of mine eyes? +Is’t real that I see? + +HELENA. +No, my good lord; +’Tis but the shadow of a wife you see, +The name, and not the thing. + +BERTRAM. +Both, both. O, pardon! + +HELENA. +O, my good lord, when I was like this maid; +I found you wondrous kind. There is your ring, +And, look you, here’s your letter. This it says, +‘When from my finger you can get this ring, +And is by me with child, &c.’ This is done; +Will you be mine now you are doubly won? + +BERTRAM. +If she, my liege, can make me know this clearly, +I’ll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. + +HELENA. +If it appear not plain, and prove untrue, +Deadly divorce step between me and you! +O my dear mother, do I see you living? + +LAFEW. +Mine eyes smell onions; I shall weep anon. +[_to Parolles_] Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher. +So, I thank thee. Wait on me home, I’ll make sport with thee. +Let thy courtesies alone, they are scurvy ones. + +KING. +Let us from point to point this story know, +To make the even truth in pleasure flow. +[_To Diana._] If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower, +Choose thou thy husband, and I’ll pay thy dower; +For I can guess that by thy honest aid, +Thou kept’st a wife herself, thyself a maid. +Of that and all the progress more and less, +Resolvedly more leisure shall express. +All yet seems well, and if it end so meet, +The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet. + + [_Flourish._] + +[EPILOGUE] + +_The king’s a beggar, now the play is done; +All is well ended if this suit be won, +That you express content; which we will pay +With strife to please you, day exceeding day. +Ours be your patience then, and yours our parts; +Your gentle hands lend us, and take our hearts._ + + [_Exeunt omnes._] + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. +Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. +Scene II. +Alexandria. Another Room in Cleopatra’s palace. +Scene III. +Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. +Scene IV. +Rome. An Apartment in Caesar’s House +Scene V. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + +ACT II +Scene I. +Messina. A Room in Pompey’s house. +Scene II. +Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus. +Scene III. +Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. +Scene IV. +Rome. A street. +Scene V. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene VI. +Near Misenum. +Scene VII. +On board Pompey’s Galley, lying near Misenum. + +ACT III +Scene I. +A plain in Syria. +Scene II. +Rome. An Ante-chamber in Caesar’s house. +Scene III. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene IV. +Athens. A Room in Antony’s House. +Scene V. +Athens. Another Room in Antony’s House. +Scene VI. +Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. +Scene VII. +Antony’s Camp near the Promontory of Actium. +Scene VIII. +A plain near Actium. +Scene IX. +Another part of the Plain. +Scene X. +Another part of the Plain. +Scene XI. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene XII. +Caesar’s camp in Egypt. +Scene XIII. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + +ACT IV +Scene I. +Caesar’s Camp at Alexandria. +Scene II. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene III. +Alexandria. Before the Palace. +Scene IV. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene V. +Antony’s camp near Alexandria. +Scene VI. +Alexandria. Caesar’s camp. +Scene VII. +Field of battle between the Camps. +Scene VIII. +Under the Walls of Alexandria. +Scene IX. +Caesar’s camp. +Scene X. +Ground between the two Camps. +Scene XI. +Another part of the Ground. +Scene XII. +Another part of the Ground. +Scene XIII. +Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. +Scene XIV. +Alexandria. Another Room. +Scene XV. +Alexandria. A monument. + +ACT V +Scene I. +Caesar’s Camp before Alexandria. +Scene II. +Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. + + +Dramatis Personæ + +MARK ANTONY, Triumvir +OCTAVIUS CAESAR, Triumvir +LEPIDUS, Triumvir +SEXTUS POMPEIUS, +DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, friend to Antony +VENTIDIUS, friend to Antony +EROS, friend to Antony +SCARUS, friend to Antony +DERCETUS, friend to Antony +DEMETRIUS, friend to Antony +PHILO, friend to Antony +MAECENAS, friend to Caesar +AGRIPPA, friend to Caesar +DOLABELLA, friend to Caesar +PROCULEIUS, friend to Caesar +THIDIAS, friend to Caesar +GALLUS, friend to Caesar +MENAS, friend to Pompey +MENECRATES, friend to Pompey +VARRIUS, friend to Pompey +TAURUS, Lieutenant-General to Caesar +CANIDIUS, Lieutenant-General to Antony +SILIUS, an Officer in Ventidius’s army +EUPHRONIUS, an Ambassador from Antony to Caesar +ALEXAS, attendant on Cleopatra +MARDIAN, attendant on Cleopatra +SELEUCUS, attendant on Cleopatra +DIOMEDES, attendant on Cleopatra +A SOOTHSAYER +A CLOWN + +CLEOPATRA, Queen of Egypt +OCTAVIA, sister to Caesar and wife to Antony +CHARMIAN, Attendant on Cleopatra +IRAS, Attendant on Cleopatra + +Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants + +SCENE: Dispersed, in several parts of the Roman Empire. + + + + +ACT I + + +SCENE I. Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. + + Enter Demetrius and Philo. + +PHILO. +Nay, but this dotage of our general’s +O’erflows the measure. Those his goodly eyes, +That o’er the files and musters of the war +Have glowed like plated Mars, now bend, now turn +The office and devotion of their view +Upon a tawny front. His captain’s heart, +Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst +The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper +And is become the bellows and the fan +To cool a gipsy’s lust. + + Flourish. Enter Antony and Cleopatra, her Ladies, the Train, with + Eunuchs fanning her. + +Look where they come: +Take but good note, and you shall see in him +The triple pillar of the world transform’d +Into a strumpet’s fool. Behold and see. + +CLEOPATRA. +If it be love indeed, tell me how much. + +ANTONY. +There’s beggary in the love that can be reckoned. + +CLEOPATRA. +I’ll set a bourn how far to be beloved. + +ANTONY. +Then must thou needs find out new heaven, new earth. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +News, my good lord, from Rome. + +ANTONY. +Grates me, the sum. + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, hear them, Antony. +Fulvia perchance is angry; or who knows +If the scarce-bearded Caesar have not sent +His powerful mandate to you: “Do this or this; +Take in that kingdom and enfranchise that. +Perform’t, or else we damn thee.” + +ANTONY. +How, my love? + +CLEOPATRA. +Perchance! Nay, and most like. +You must not stay here longer; your dismission +Is come from Caesar; therefore hear it, Antony. +Where’s Fulvia’s process?—Caesar’s I would say? Both? +Call in the messengers. As I am Egypt’s queen, +Thou blushest, Antony, and that blood of thine +Is Caesar’s homager; else so thy cheek pays shame +When shrill-tongued Fulvia scolds. The messengers! + +ANTONY. +Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch +Of the ranged empire fall! Here is my space. +Kingdoms are clay. Our dungy earth alike +Feeds beast as man. The nobleness of life +Is to do thus [_Embracing_]; when such a mutual pair +And such a twain can do’t, in which I bind, +On pain of punishment, the world to weet +We stand up peerless. + +CLEOPATRA. +Excellent falsehood! +Why did he marry Fulvia, and not love her? +I’ll seem the fool I am not. Antony +Will be himself. + +ANTONY. +But stirred by Cleopatra. +Now, for the love of Love and her soft hours, +Let’s not confound the time with conference harsh. +There’s not a minute of our lives should stretch +Without some pleasure now. What sport tonight? + +CLEOPATRA. +Hear the ambassadors. + +ANTONY. +Fie, wrangling queen! +Whom everything becomes—to chide, to laugh, +To weep; whose every passion fully strives +To make itself, in thee fair and admired! +No messenger but thine, and all alone +Tonight we’ll wander through the streets and note +The qualities of people. Come, my queen, +Last night you did desire it. Speak not to us. + + [_Exeunt Antony and Cleopatra with the Train._] + +DEMETRIUS. +Is Caesar with Antonius prized so slight? + +PHILO. +Sir, sometimes when he is not Antony, +He comes too short of that great property +Which still should go with Antony. + +DEMETRIUS. +I am full sorry +That he approves the common liar who +Thus speaks of him at Rome, but I will hope +Of better deeds tomorrow. Rest you happy! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Alexandria. Another Room in Cleopatra’s palace. + + Enter Enobarbus, a Soothsayer, Charmian, Iras, Mardian and Alexas. + +CHARMIAN. +Lord Alexas, sweet Alexas, most anything Alexas, almost most absolute +Alexas, where’s the soothsayer that you praised so to th’ queen? O, +that I knew this husband which you say must charge his horns with +garlands! + +ALEXAS. +Soothsayer! + +SOOTHSAYER. +Your will? + +CHARMIAN. +Is this the man? Is’t you, sir, that know things? + +SOOTHSAYER. +In nature’s infinite book of secrecy +A little I can read. + +ALEXAS. +Show him your hand. + +ENOBARBUS. +Bring in the banquet quickly; wine enough +Cleopatra’s health to drink. + +CHARMIAN. +Good, sir, give me good fortune. + +SOOTHSAYER. +I make not, but foresee. + +CHARMIAN. +Pray, then, foresee me one. + +SOOTHSAYER. +You shall be yet far fairer than you are. + +CHARMIAN. +He means in flesh. + +IRAS. +No, you shall paint when you are old. + +CHARMIAN. +Wrinkles forbid! + +ALEXAS. +Vex not his prescience. Be attentive. + +CHARMIAN. +Hush! + +SOOTHSAYER. +You shall be more beloving than beloved. + +CHARMIAN. +I had rather heat my liver with drinking. + +ALEXAS. +Nay, hear him. + +CHARMIAN. +Good now, some excellent fortune! Let me be married to three kings in a +forenoon and widow them all. Let me have a child at fifty, to whom +Herod of Jewry may do homage. Find me to marry me with Octavius Caesar, +and companion me with my mistress. + +SOOTHSAYER. +You shall outlive the lady whom you serve. + +CHARMIAN. +O, excellent! I love long life better than figs. + +SOOTHSAYER. +You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune +Than that which is to approach. + +CHARMIAN. +Then belike my children shall have no names. Prithee, how many boys and +wenches must I have? + +SOOTHSAYER. +If every of your wishes had a womb, +And fertile every wish, a million. + +CHARMIAN. +Out, fool! I forgive thee for a witch. + +ALEXAS. +You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes. + +CHARMIAN. +Nay, come, tell Iras hers. + +ALEXAS. +We’ll know all our fortunes. + +ENOBARBUS. +Mine, and most of our fortunes tonight, shall be drunk to bed. + +IRAS. +There’s a palm presages chastity, if nothing else. + +CHARMIAN. +E’en as the o’erflowing Nilus presageth famine. + +IRAS. +Go, you wild bedfellow, you cannot soothsay. + +CHARMIAN. +Nay, if an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot +scratch mine ear. Prithee, tell her but workaday fortune. + +SOOTHSAYER. +Your fortunes are alike. + +IRAS. +But how, but how? give me particulars. + +SOOTHSAYER. +I have said. + +IRAS. +Am I not an inch of fortune better than she? + +CHARMIAN. +Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you +choose it? + +IRAS. +Not in my husband’s nose. + +CHARMIAN. +Our worser thoughts heavens mend! Alexas—come, his fortune! his +fortune! O, let him marry a woman that cannot go, sweet Isis, I beseech +thee, and let her die too, and give him a worse, and let worse follow +worse, till the worst of all follow him laughing to his grave, +fiftyfold a cuckold! Good Isis, hear me this prayer, though thou deny +me a matter of more weight; good Isis, I beseech thee! + +IRAS. +Amen. Dear goddess, hear that prayer of the people! For, as it is a +heartbreaking to see a handsome man loose-wived, so it is a deadly +sorrow to behold a foul knave uncuckolded. Therefore, dear Isis, keep +decorum and fortune him accordingly! + +CHARMIAN. +Amen. + +ALEXAS. +Lo now, if it lay in their hands to make me a cuckold, they would make +themselves whores but they’d do’t! + + Enter Cleopatra. + +ENOBARBUS. +Hush, Here comes Antony. + +CHARMIAN. +Not he, the queen. + +CLEOPATRA. +Saw you my lord? + +ENOBARBUS. +No, lady. + +CLEOPATRA. +Was he not here? + +CHARMIAN. +No, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +He was disposed to mirth; but on the sudden +A Roman thought hath struck him. Enobarbus! + +ENOBARBUS. +Madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +Seek him and bring him hither. Where’s Alexas? + +ALEXAS. +Here, at your service. My lord approaches. + + Enter Antony with a Messenger. + +CLEOPATRA. +We will not look upon him. Go with us. + + [_Exeunt Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas and + Soothsayer._] + +MESSENGER. +Fulvia thy wife first came into the field. + +ANTONY. +Against my brother Lucius. + +MESSENGER. +Ay. +But soon that war had end, and the time’s state +Made friends of them, jointing their force ’gainst Caesar, +Whose better issue in the war from Italy +Upon the first encounter drave them. + +ANTONY. +Well, what worst? + +MESSENGER. +The nature of bad news infects the teller. + +ANTONY. +When it concerns the fool or coward. On. +Things that are past are done with me. ’Tis thus: +Who tells me true, though in his tale lie death, +I hear him as he flattered. + +MESSENGER. +Labienus— +This is stiff news—hath with his Parthian force +Extended Asia from Euphrates +His conquering banner shook from Syria +To Lydia and to Ionia, +Whilst— + +ANTONY. +“Antony”, thou wouldst say— + +MESSENGER. +O, my lord! + +ANTONY. +Speak to me home; mince not the general tongue. +Name Cleopatra as she is called in Rome; +Rail thou in Fulvia’s phrase, and taunt my faults +With such full licence as both truth and malice +Have power to utter. O, then we bring forth weeds +When our quick minds lie still, and our ills told us +Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile. + +MESSENGER. +At your noble pleasure. + + [_Exit Messenger._] + + Enter another Messenger. + +ANTONY. +From Sicyon, ho, the news? Speak there! + +SECOND MESSENGER. +The man from Sicyon— + +ANTONY. +Is there such a one? + +SECOND MESSENGER. +He stays upon your will. + +ANTONY. +Let him appear. + + [_Exit second Messenger._] + +These strong Egyptian fetters I must break, +Or lose myself in dotage. + + Enter another Messenger with a letter. + +What are you? + +THIRD MESSENGER. +Fulvia thy wife is dead. + +ANTONY. +Where died she? + +THIRD MESSENGER. +In Sicyon: +Her length of sickness, with what else more serious +Importeth thee to know, this bears. + + [_Gives a letter._] + +ANTONY. +Forbear me. + + [_Exit third Messenger._] + +There’s a great spirit gone! Thus did I desire it. +What our contempts doth often hurl from us, +We wish it ours again. The present pleasure, +By revolution lowering, does become +The opposite of itself. She’s good, being gone. +The hand could pluck her back that shoved her on. +I must from this enchanting queen break off. +Ten thousand harms, more than the ills I know, +My idleness doth hatch. How now, Enobarbus! + + Enter Enobarbus. + +ENOBARBUS. +What’s your pleasure, sir? + +ANTONY. +I must with haste from hence. + +ENOBARBUS. +Why then we kill all our women. We see how mortal an unkindness is to +them. If they suffer our departure, death’s the word. + +ANTONY. +I must be gone. + +ENOBARBUS. +Under a compelling occasion, let women die. It were pity to cast them +away for nothing, though, between them and a great cause they should be +esteemed nothing. Cleopatra, catching but the least noise of this, dies +instantly. I have seen her die twenty times upon far poorer moment. I +do think there is mettle in death which commits some loving act upon +her, she hath such a celerity in dying. + +ANTONY. +She is cunning past man’s thought. + +ENOBARBUS. +Alack, sir, no; her passions are made of nothing but the finest part of +pure love. We cannot call her winds and waters sighs and tears; they +are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report. This cannot +be cunning in her; if it be, she makes a shower of rain as well as +Jove. + +ANTONY. +Would I had never seen her! + +ENOBARBUS. +O, sir, you had then left unseen a wonderful piece of work, which not +to have been blest withal would have discredited your travel. + +ANTONY. +Fulvia is dead. + +ENOBARBUS. +Sir? + +ANTONY. +Fulvia is dead. + +ENOBARBUS. +Fulvia? + +ANTONY. +Dead. + +ENOBARBUS. +Why, sir, give the gods a thankful sacrifice. When it pleaseth their +deities to take the wife of a man from him, it shows to man the tailors +of the earth; comforting therein that when old robes are worn out, +there are members to make new. If there were no more women but Fulvia, +then had you indeed a cut, and the case to be lamented. This grief is +crowned with consolation; your old smock brings forth a new petticoat: +and indeed the tears live in an onion that should water this sorrow. + +ANTONY. +The business she hath broached in the state +Cannot endure my absence. + +ENOBARBUS. +And the business you have broached here cannot be without you, +especially that of Cleopatra’s, which wholly depends on your abode. + +ANTONY. +No more light answers. Let our officers +Have notice what we purpose. I shall break +The cause of our expedience to the Queen, +And get her leave to part. For not alone +The death of Fulvia, with more urgent touches, +Do strongly speak to us, but the letters too +Of many our contriving friends in Rome +Petition us at home. Sextus Pompeius +Hath given the dare to Caesar, and commands +The empire of the sea. Our slippery people, +Whose love is never linked to the deserver +Till his deserts are past, begin to throw +Pompey the Great and all his dignities +Upon his son, who, high in name and power, +Higher than both in blood and life, stands up +For the main soldier; whose quality, going on, +The sides o’ th’ world may danger. Much is breeding +Which, like the courser’s hair, hath yet but life +And not a serpent’s poison. Say our pleasure +To such whose place is under us, requires +Our quick remove from hence. + +ENOBARBUS. +I shall do’t. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in Cleopatra’s palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Alexas and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where is he? + +CHARMIAN. +I did not see him since. + +CLEOPATRA. +See where he is, who’s with him, what he does. +I did not send you. If you find him sad, +Say I am dancing; if in mirth, report +That I am sudden sick. Quick, and return. + + [_Exit Alexas._] + +CHARMIAN. +Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, +You do not hold the method to enforce +The like from him. + +CLEOPATRA. +What should I do I do not? + +CHARMIAN. +In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing. + +CLEOPATRA. +Thou teachest like a fool: the way to lose him. + +CHARMIAN. +Tempt him not so too far; I wish, forbear. +In time we hate that which we often fear. +But here comes Antony. + + Enter Antony. + +CLEOPATRA. +I am sick and sullen. + +ANTONY. +I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose— + +CLEOPATRA. +Help me away, dear Charmian! I shall fall. +It cannot be thus long; the sides of nature +Will not sustain it. + +ANTONY. +Now, my dearest queen— + +CLEOPATRA. +Pray you, stand farther from me. + +ANTONY. +What’s the matter? + +CLEOPATRA. +I know by that same eye there’s some good news. +What, says the married woman you may go? +Would she had never given you leave to come! +Let her not say ’tis I that keep you here. +I have no power upon you; hers you are. + +ANTONY. +The gods best know— + +CLEOPATRA. +O, never was there queen +So mightily betrayed! Yet at the first +I saw the treasons planted. + +ANTONY. +Cleopatra— + +CLEOPATRA. +Why should I think you can be mine and true, +Though you in swearing shake the throned gods, +Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness, +To be entangled with those mouth-made vows +Which break themselves in swearing! + +ANTONY. +Most sweet queen— + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, pray you seek no colour for your going, +But bid farewell and go. When you sued staying, +Then was the time for words. No going then, +Eternity was in our lips and eyes, +Bliss in our brows’ bent; none our parts so poor +But was a race of heaven. They are so still, +Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world, +Art turned the greatest liar. + +ANTONY. +How now, lady! + +CLEOPATRA. +I would I had thy inches, thou shouldst know +There were a heart in Egypt. + +ANTONY. +Hear me, queen: +The strong necessity of time commands +Our services awhile, but my full heart +Remains in use with you. Our Italy +Shines o’er with civil swords; Sextus Pompeius +Makes his approaches to the port of Rome; +Equality of two domestic powers +Breed scrupulous faction; the hated, grown to strength, +Are newly grown to love; the condemned Pompey, +Rich in his father’s honour, creeps apace +Into the hearts of such as have not thrived +Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten; +And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge +By any desperate change. My more particular, +And that which most with you should safe my going, +Is Fulvia’s death. + +CLEOPATRA. +Though age from folly could not give me freedom, +It does from childishness. Can Fulvia die? + +ANTONY. +She’s dead, my queen. +Look here, and at thy sovereign leisure read +The garboils she awaked; at the last, best, +See when and where she died. + +CLEOPATRA. +O most false love! +Where be the sacred vials thou shouldst fill +With sorrowful water? Now I see, I see, +In Fulvia’s death how mine received shall be. + +ANTONY. +Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know +The purposes I bear; which are, or cease, +As you shall give th’ advice. By the fire +That quickens Nilus’ slime, I go from hence +Thy soldier, servant, making peace or war +As thou affects. + +CLEOPATRA. +Cut my lace, Charmian, come! +But let it be; I am quickly ill and well, +So Antony loves. + +ANTONY. +My precious queen, forbear, +And give true evidence to his love, which stands +An honourable trial. + +CLEOPATRA. +So Fulvia told me. +I prithee, turn aside and weep for her, +Then bid adieu to me, and say the tears +Belong to Egypt. Good now, play one scene +Of excellent dissembling, and let it look +Like perfect honour. + +ANTONY. +You’ll heat my blood. No more. + +CLEOPATRA. +You can do better yet, but this is meetly. + +ANTONY. +Now, by my sword— + +CLEOPATRA. +And target. Still he mends. +But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian, +How this Herculean Roman does become +The carriage of his chafe. + +ANTONY. +I’ll leave you, lady. + +CLEOPATRA. +Courteous lord, one word. +Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it; +Sir, you and I have loved, but there’s not it; +That you know well. Something it is I would— +O, my oblivion is a very Antony, +And I am all forgotten. + +ANTONY. +But that your royalty +Holds idleness your subject, I should take you +For idleness itself. + +CLEOPATRA. +’Tis sweating labour +To bear such idleness so near the heart +As Cleopatra this. But, sir, forgive me, +Since my becomings kill me when they do not +Eye well to you. Your honour calls you hence; +Therefore be deaf to my unpitied folly, +And all the gods go with you! Upon your sword +Sit laurel victory, and smooth success +Be strewed before your feet! + +ANTONY. +Let us go. Come. +Our separation so abides and flies +That thou, residing here, goes yet with me, +And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee. +Away! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. An Apartment in Caesar’s House. + + Enter Octavius [Caesar], Lepidus and their train. + +CAESAR. +You may see, Lepidus, and henceforth know, +It is not Caesar’s natural vice to hate +Our great competitor. From Alexandria +This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes +The lamps of night in revel: is not more manlike +Than Cleopatra, nor the queen of Ptolemy +More womanly than he; hardly gave audience, or +Vouchsafed to think he had partners. You shall find there +A man who is the abstract of all faults +That all men follow. + +LEPIDUS. +I must not think there are +Evils enough to darken all his goodness. +His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, +More fiery by night’s blackness; hereditary +Rather than purchased; what he cannot change +Than what he chooses. + +CAESAR. +You are too indulgent. Let’s grant it is not +Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy, +To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit +And keep the turn of tippling with a slave, +To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet +With knaves that smell of sweat. Say this becomes him— +As his composure must be rare indeed +Whom these things cannot blemish—yet must Antony +No way excuse his foils when we do bear +So great weight in his lightness. If he filled +His vacancy with his voluptuousness, +Full surfeits and the dryness of his bones +Call on him for’t. But to confound such time +That drums him from his sport, and speaks as loud +As his own state and ours, ’tis to be chid +As we rate boys who, being mature in knowledge, +Pawn their experience to their present pleasure +And so rebel to judgment. + + Enter a Messenger. + +LEPIDUS. +Here’s more news. + +MESSENGER. +Thy biddings have been done, and every hour, +Most noble Caesar, shalt thou have report +How ’tis abroad. Pompey is strong at sea, +And it appears he is beloved of those +That only have feared Caesar. To the ports +The discontents repair, and men’s reports +Give him much wronged. + +CAESAR. +I should have known no less. +It hath been taught us from the primal state +That he which is was wished until he were, +And the ebbed man, ne’er loved till ne’er worth love, +Comes deared by being lacked. This common body, +Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, +Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, +To rot itself with motion. + + Enter a second Messenger. + +SECOND MESSENGER. +Caesar, I bring thee word +Menecrates and Menas, famous pirates, +Make the sea serve them, which they ear and wound +With keels of every kind. Many hot inroads +They make in Italy—the borders maritime +Lack blood to think on’t—and flush youth revolt. +No vessel can peep forth but ’tis as soon +Taken as seen; for Pompey’s name strikes more +Than could his war resisted. + +CAESAR. +Antony, +Leave thy lascivious wassails. When thou once +Was beaten from Modena, where thou slew’st +Hirtius and Pansa, consuls, at thy heel +Did famine follow, whom thou fought’st against, +Though daintily brought up, with patience more +Than savages could suffer. Thou didst drink +The stale of horses and the gilded puddle +Which beasts would cough at. Thy palate then did deign +The roughest berry on the rudest hedge. +Yea, like the stag when snow the pasture sheets, +The barks of trees thou browsed. On the Alps +It is reported thou didst eat strange flesh +Which some did die to look on. And all this— +It wounds thine honour that I speak it now— +Was borne so like a soldier that thy cheek +So much as lanked not. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis pity of him. + +CAESAR. +Let his shames quickly +Drive him to Rome. ’Tis time we twain +Did show ourselves i’ th’ field, and to that end +Assemble we immediate council. Pompey +Thrives in our idleness. + +LEPIDUS. +Tomorrow, Caesar, +I shall be furnished to inform you rightly +Both what by sea and land I can be able +To front this present time. + +CAESAR. +Till which encounter +It is my business too. Farewell. + +LEPIDUS. +Farewell, my lord. What you shall know meantime +Of stirs abroad, I shall beseech you, sir, +To let me be partaker. + +CAESAR. +Doubt not, sir. +I knew it for my bond. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Mardian. + +CLEOPATRA. +Charmian! + +CHARMIAN. +Madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +Ha, ha! +Give me to drink mandragora. + +CHARMIAN. +Why, madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +That I might sleep out this great gap of time +My Antony is away. + +CHARMIAN. +You think of him too much. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, ’tis treason! + +CHARMIAN. +Madam, I trust not so. + +CLEOPATRA. +Thou, eunuch Mardian! + +MARDIAN. +What’s your highness’ pleasure? + +CLEOPATRA. +Not now to hear thee sing. I take no pleasure +In aught an eunuch has. ’Tis well for thee +That, being unseminared, thy freer thoughts +May not fly forth of Egypt. Hast thou affections? + +MARDIAN. +Yes, gracious madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +Indeed? + +MARDIAN. +Not in deed, madam, for I can do nothing +But what indeed is honest to be done. +Yet have I fierce affections, and think +What Venus did with Mars. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, Charmian, +Where think’st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he? +Or does he walk? Or is he on his horse? +O happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony! +Do bravely, horse, for wot’st thou whom thou mov’st? +The demi-Atlas of this earth, the arm +And burgonet of men. He’s speaking now, +Or murmuring “Where’s my serpent of old Nile?” +For so he calls me. Now I feed myself +With most delicious poison. Think on me +That am with Phœbus’ amorous pinches black, +And wrinkled deep in time? Broad-fronted Caesar, +When thou wast here above the ground, I was +A morsel for a monarch. And great Pompey +Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow; +There would he anchor his aspect, and die +With looking on his life. + + Enter Alexas. + +ALEXAS. +Sovereign of Egypt, hail! + +CLEOPATRA. +How much unlike art thou Mark Antony! +Yet, coming from him, that great medicine hath +With his tinct gilded thee. +How goes it with my brave Mark Antony? + +ALEXAS. +Last thing he did, dear queen, +He kissed—the last of many doubled kisses— +This orient pearl. His speech sticks in my heart. + +CLEOPATRA. +Mine ear must pluck it thence. + +ALEXAS. +“Good friend,” quoth he, +“Say, the firm Roman to great Egypt sends +This treasure of an oyster; at whose foot, +To mend the petty present, I will piece +Her opulent throne with kingdoms. All the east, +Say thou, shall call her mistress.” So he nodded +And soberly did mount an arm-gaunt steed, +Who neighed so high that what I would have spoke +Was beastly dumbed by him. + +CLEOPATRA. +What, was he sad or merry? + +ALEXAS. +Like to the time o’ th’ year between the extremes +Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry. + +CLEOPATRA. +O well-divided disposition!—Note him, +Note him, good Charmian, ’tis the man; but note him: +He was not sad, for he would shine on those +That make their looks by his; he was not merry, +Which seemed to tell them his remembrance lay +In Egypt with his joy; but between both. +O heavenly mingle!—Be’st thou sad or merry, +The violence of either thee becomes, +So does it no man else.—Met’st thou my posts? + +ALEXAS. +Ay, madam, twenty several messengers. +Why do you send so thick? + +CLEOPATRA. +Who’s born that day +When I forget to send to Antony +Shall die a beggar.—Ink and paper, Charmian.— +Welcome, my good Alexas.—Did I, Charmian, +Ever love Caesar so? + +CHARMIAN. +O that brave Caesar! + +CLEOPATRA. +Be choked with such another emphasis! +Say “the brave Antony.” + +CHARMIAN. +The valiant Caesar! + +CLEOPATRA. +By Isis, I will give thee bloody teeth +If thou with Caesar paragon again +My man of men. + +CHARMIAN. +By your most gracious pardon, +I sing but after you. + +CLEOPATRA. +My salad days, +When I was green in judgment, cold in blood, +To say as I said then. But come, away, +Get me ink and paper. +He shall have every day a several greeting, +Or I’ll unpeople Egypt. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + + +SCENE I. Messina. A Room in Pompey’s house. + + Enter Pompey, Menecrates and Menas in warlike manner. + +POMPEY. +If the great gods be just, they shall assist +The deeds of justest men. + +MENECRATES. +Know, worthy Pompey, +That what they do delay they not deny. + +POMPEY. +Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays +The thing we sue for. + +MENECRATES. +We, ignorant of ourselves, +Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers +Deny us for our good; so find we profit +By losing of our prayers. + +POMPEY. +I shall do well. +The people love me, and the sea is mine; +My powers are crescent, and my auguring hope +Says it will come to th’ full. Mark Antony +In Egypt sits at dinner, and will make +No wars without doors. Caesar gets money where +He loses hearts. Lepidus flatters both, +Of both is flattered; but he neither loves +Nor either cares for him. + +MENAS. +Caesar and Lepidus +Are in the field. A mighty strength they carry. + +POMPEY. +Where have you this? ’Tis false. + +MENAS. +From Silvius, sir. + +POMPEY. +He dreams. I know they are in Rome together, +Looking for Antony. But all the charms of love, +Salt Cleopatra, soften thy waned lip! +Let witchcraft join with beauty, lust with both; +Tie up the libertine in a field of feasts; +Keep his brain fuming. Epicurean cooks +Sharpen with cloyless sauce his appetite, +That sleep and feeding may prorogue his honour +Even till a Lethe’d dullness— + + Enter Varrius. + +How now, Varrius! + +VARRIUS. +This is most certain that I shall deliver: +Mark Antony is every hour in Rome +Expected. Since he went from Egypt ’tis +A space for farther travel. + +POMPEY. +I could have given less matter +A better ear.—Menas, I did not think +This amorous surfeiter would have donned his helm +For such a petty war. His soldiership +Is twice the other twain. But let us rear +The higher our opinion, that our stirring +Can from the lap of Egypt’s widow pluck +The ne’er lust-wearied Antony. + +MENAS. +I cannot hope +Caesar and Antony shall well greet together. +His wife that’s dead did trespasses to Caesar; +His brother warred upon him, although I think, +Not moved by Antony. + +POMPEY. +I know not, Menas, +How lesser enmities may give way to greater. +Were’t not that we stand up against them all, +’Twere pregnant they should square between themselves, +For they have entertained cause enough +To draw their swords. But how the fear of us +May cement their divisions, and bind up +The petty difference, we yet not know. +Be’t as our gods will have’t! It only stands +Our lives upon to use our strongest hands. +Come, Menas. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rome. A Room in the House of Lepidus. + + Enter Enobarbus and Lepidus. + +LEPIDUS. +Good Enobarbus, ’tis a worthy deed, +And shall become you well, to entreat your captain +To soft and gentle speech. + +ENOBARBUS. +I shall entreat him +To answer like himself. If Caesar move him, +Let Antony look over Caesar’s head +And speak as loud as Mars. By Jupiter, +Were I the wearer of Antonius’ beard, +I would not shave’t today. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis not a time +For private stomaching. + +ENOBARBUS. +Every time +Serves for the matter that is then born in’t. + +LEPIDUS. +But small to greater matters must give way. + +ENOBARBUS. +Not if the small come first. + +LEPIDUS. +Your speech is passion; +But pray you stir no embers up. Here comes +The noble Antony. + + Enter Antony and Ventidius. + +ENOBARBUS. +And yonder Caesar. + + Enter Caesar, Maecenas and Agrippa. + +ANTONY. +If we compose well here, to Parthia. +Hark, Ventidius. + +CAESAR. +I do not know, Maecenas. Ask Agrippa. + +LEPIDUS. +Noble friends, +That which combined us was most great, and let not +A leaner action rend us. What’s amiss, +May it be gently heard. When we debate +Our trivial difference loud, we do commit +Murder in healing wounds. Then, noble partners, +The rather for I earnestly beseech, +Touch you the sourest points with sweetest terms, +Nor curstness grow to th’ matter. + +ANTONY. +’Tis spoken well. +Were we before our armies, and to fight, +I should do thus. + +CAESAR. +Welcome to Rome. + +ANTONY. +Thank you. + +CAESAR. +Sit. + +ANTONY. +Sit, sir. + +CAESAR. +Nay, then. + +ANTONY. +I learn you take things ill which are not so, +Or being, concern you not. + +CAESAR. +I must be laughed at +If, or for nothing or a little, I +Should say myself offended, and with you +Chiefly i’ th’ world; more laughed at that I should +Once name you derogately when to sound your name +It not concerned me. + +ANTONY. +My being in Egypt, Caesar, +What was’t to you? + +CAESAR. +No more than my residing here at Rome +Might be to you in Egypt. Yet if you there +Did practise on my state, your being in Egypt +Might be my question. + +ANTONY. +How intend you, practised? + +CAESAR. +You may be pleased to catch at mine intent +By what did here befall me. Your wife and brother +Made wars upon me, and their contestation +Was theme for you; you were the word of war. + +ANTONY. +You do mistake your business. My brother never +Did urge me in his act. I did inquire it, +And have my learning from some true reports +That drew their swords with you. Did he not rather +Discredit my authority with yours, +And make the wars alike against my stomach, +Having alike your cause? Of this my letters +Before did satisfy you. If you’ll patch a quarrel, +As matter whole you have not to make it with, +It must not be with this. + +CAESAR. +You praise yourself +By laying defects of judgment to me; but +You patched up your excuses. + +ANTONY. +Not so, not so. +I know you could not lack—I am certain on’t— +Very necessity of this thought, that I, +Your partner in the cause ’gainst which he fought, +Could not with graceful eyes attend those wars +Which fronted mine own peace. As for my wife, +I would you had her spirit in such another. +The third o’ th’ world is yours, which with a snaffle +You may pace easy, but not such a wife. + +ENOBARBUS. +Would we had all such wives, that the men +Might go to wars with the women. + +ANTONY. +So much uncurbable, her garboils, Caesar, +Made out of her impatience—which not wanted +Shrewdness of policy too—I grieving grant +Did you too much disquiet. For that you must +But say I could not help it. + +CAESAR. +I wrote to you +When rioting in Alexandria; you +Did pocket up my letters, and with taunts +Did gibe my missive out of audience. + +ANTONY. +Sir, +He fell upon me ere admitted, then. +Three kings I had newly feasted, and did want +Of what I was i’ th’ morning. But next day +I told him of myself, which was as much +As to have asked him pardon. Let this fellow +Be nothing of our strife; if we contend, +Out of our question wipe him. + +CAESAR. +You have broken +The article of your oath, which you shall never +Have tongue to charge me with. + +LEPIDUS. +Soft, Caesar! + +ANTONY. +No, Lepidus, let him speak. +The honour is sacred which he talks on now, +Supposing that I lacked it. But on, Caesar: +The article of my oath? + +CAESAR. +To lend me arms and aid when I required them, +The which you both denied. + +ANTONY. +Neglected, rather; +And then when poisoned hours had bound me up +From mine own knowledge. As nearly as I may +I’ll play the penitent to you. But mine honesty +Shall not make poor my greatness, nor my power +Work without it. Truth is that Fulvia, +To have me out of Egypt, made wars here, +For which myself, the ignorant motive, do +So far ask pardon as befits mine honour +To stoop in such a case. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis noble spoken. + +MAECENAS. +If it might please you to enforce no further +The griefs between ye; to forget them quite +Were to remember that the present need +Speaks to atone you. + +LEPIDUS. +Worthily spoken, Maecenas. + +ENOBARBUS. +Or, if you borrow one another’s love for the instant, you may, when you +hear no more words of Pompey, return it again. You shall have time to +wrangle in when you have nothing else to do. + +ANTONY. +Thou art a soldier only. Speak no more. + +ENOBARBUS. +That truth should be silent I had almost forgot. + +ANTONY. +You wrong this presence; therefore speak no more. + +ENOBARBUS. +Go to, then. Your considerate stone! + +CAESAR. +I do not much dislike the matter, but +The manner of his speech; for’t cannot be +We shall remain in friendship, our conditions +So differing in their acts. Yet if I knew +What hoop should hold us staunch, from edge to edge +O’ th’ world I would pursue it. + +AGRIPPA. +Give me leave, Caesar. + +CAESAR. +Speak, Agrippa. + +AGRIPPA. +Thou hast a sister by the mother’s side, +Admired Octavia. Great Mark Antony +Is now a widower. + +CAESAR. +Say not so, Agrippa. +If Cleopatra heard you, your reproof +Were well deserved of rashness. + +ANTONY. +I am not married, Caesar. Let me hear +Agrippa further speak. + +AGRIPPA. +To hold you in perpetual amity, +To make you brothers, and to knit your hearts +With an unslipping knot, take Antony +Octavia to his wife; whose beauty claims +No worse a husband than the best of men; +Whose virtue and whose general graces speak +That which none else can utter. By this marriage +All little jealousies, which now seem great, +And all great fears, which now import their dangers, +Would then be nothing. Truths would be tales, +Where now half-tales be truths. Her love to both +Would each to other, and all loves to both, +Draw after her. Pardon what I have spoke, +For ’tis a studied, not a present thought, +By duty ruminated. + +ANTONY. +Will Caesar speak? + +CAESAR. +Not till he hears how Antony is touched +With what is spoke already. + +ANTONY. +What power is in Agrippa, +If I would say “Agrippa, be it so,” +To make this good? + +CAESAR. +The power of Caesar, and +His power unto Octavia. + +ANTONY. +May I never +To this good purpose, that so fairly shows, +Dream of impediment! Let me have thy hand. +Further this act of grace; and from this hour +The heart of brothers govern in our loves +And sway our great designs! + +CAESAR. +There’s my hand. +A sister I bequeath you, whom no brother +Did ever love so dearly. Let her live +To join our kingdoms and our hearts; and never +Fly off our loves again! + +LEPIDUS. +Happily, amen! + +ANTONY. +I did not think to draw my sword ’gainst Pompey, +For he hath laid strange courtesies and great +Of late upon me. I must thank him only, +Lest my remembrance suffer ill report; +At heel of that, defy him. + +LEPIDUS. +Time calls upon ’s. +Of us must Pompey presently be sought, +Or else he seeks out us. + +ANTONY. +Where lies he? + +CAESAR. +About the Mount Misena. + +ANTONY. +What is his strength by land? + +CAESAR. +Great and increasing; but by sea +He is an absolute master. + +ANTONY. +So is the fame. +Would we had spoke together! Haste we for it. +Yet, ere we put ourselves in arms, dispatch we +The business we have talked of. + +CAESAR. +With most gladness, +And do invite you to my sister’s view, +Whither straight I’ll lead you. + +ANTONY. +Let us, Lepidus, not lack your company. + +LEPIDUS. +Noble Antony, not sickness should detain me. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt all except Enobarbus, Agrippa and Maecenas._] + +MAECENAS. +Welcome from Egypt, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +Half the heart of Caesar, worthy Maecenas! My honourable friend, +Agrippa! + +AGRIPPA. +Good Enobarbus! + +MAECENAS. +We have cause to be glad that matters are so well digested. You stayed +well by ’t in Egypt. + +ENOBARBUS. +Ay, sir, we did sleep day out of countenance and made the night light +with drinking. + +MAECENAS. +Eight wild boars roasted whole at a breakfast, and but twelve persons +there. Is this true? + +ENOBARBUS. +This was but as a fly by an eagle. We had much more monstrous matter of +feast, which worthily deserved noting. + +MAECENAS. +She’s a most triumphant lady, if report be square to her. + +ENOBARBUS. +When she first met Mark Antony, she pursed up his heart upon the river +of Cydnus. + +AGRIPPA. +There she appeared indeed, or my reporter devised well for her. + +ENOBARBUS. +I will tell you. +The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, +Burned on the water. The poop was beaten gold; +Purple the sails, and so perfumed that +The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, +Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made +The water which they beat to follow faster, +As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, +It beggared all description: she did lie +In her pavilion, cloth-of-gold of tissue, +O’erpicturing that Venus where we see +The fancy outwork nature. On each side her +Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, +With divers-coloured fans, whose wind did seem +To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, +And what they undid did. + +AGRIPPA. +O, rare for Antony! + +ENOBARBUS. +Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, +So many mermaids, tended her i’ th’ eyes, +And made their bends adornings. At the helm +A seeming mermaid steers. The silken tackle +Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands +That yarely frame the office. From the barge +A strange invisible perfume hits the sense +Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast +Her people out upon her, and Antony, +Enthroned i’ th’ market-place, did sit alone, +Whistling to th’ air, which, but for vacancy, +Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, +And made a gap in nature. + +AGRIPPA. +Rare Egyptian! + +ENOBARBUS. +Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, +Invited her to supper. She replied +It should be better he became her guest, +Which she entreated. Our courteous Antony, +Whom ne’er the word of “No” woman heard speak, +Being barbered ten times o’er, goes to the feast, +And, for his ordinary, pays his heart +For what his eyes eat only. + +AGRIPPA. +Royal wench! +She made great Caesar lay his sword to bed. +He ploughed her, and she cropped. + +ENOBARBUS. +I saw her once +Hop forty paces through the public street +And, having lost her breath, she spoke and panted, +That she did make defect perfection, +And, breathless, pour breath forth. + +MAECENAS. +Now Antony must leave her utterly. + +ENOBARBUS. +Never. He will not. +Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale +Her infinite variety. Other women cloy +The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry +Where most she satisfies. For vilest things +Become themselves in her, that the holy priests +Bless her when she is riggish. + +MAECENAS. +If beauty, wisdom, modesty can settle +The heart of Antony, Octavia is +A blessed lottery to him. + +AGRIPPA. +Let us go. +Good Enobarbus, make yourself my guest +Whilst you abide here. + +ENOBARBUS. +Humbly, sir, I thank you. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. + + Enter Antony, Caesar, Octavia between them. + +ANTONY. +The world and my great office will sometimes +Divide me from your bosom. + +OCTAVIA. +All which time +Before the gods my knee shall bow my prayers +To them for you. + +ANTONY. +Good night, sir.—My Octavia, +Read not my blemishes in the world’s report. +I have not kept my square, but that to come +Shall all be done by th’ rule. Good night, dear lady. + +OCTAVIA. +Good night, sir. + +CAESAR. +Good night. + + [_Exeunt Caesar and Octavia._] + + Enter Soothsayer. + +ANTONY. +Now, sirrah, you do wish yourself in Egypt? + +SOOTHSAYER. +Would I had never come from thence, nor you thither! + +ANTONY. +If you can, your reason. + +SOOTHSAYER. +I see it in my motion, have it not in my tongue. +But yet hie you to Egypt again. + +ANTONY. +Say to me, +Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar’s or mine? + +SOOTHSAYER. +Caesar’s. +Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side. +Thy dæmon—that thy spirit which keeps thee—is +Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, +Where Caesar’s is not. But near him, thy angel +Becomes afeard, as being o’erpowered. Therefore +Make space enough between you. + +ANTONY. +Speak this no more. + +SOOTHSAYER. +To none but thee; no more but when to thee. +If thou dost play with him at any game, +Thou art sure to lose; and of that natural luck +He beats thee ’gainst the odds. Thy lustre thickens +When he shines by. I say again, thy spirit +Is all afraid to govern thee near him; +But, he away, ’tis noble. + +ANTONY. +Get thee gone. +Say to Ventidius I would speak with him. + + [_Exit Soothsayer._] + +He shall to Parthia. Be it art or hap, +He hath spoken true. The very dice obey him, +And in our sports my better cunning faints +Under his chance. If we draw lots, he speeds; +His cocks do win the battle still of mine +When it is all to naught, and his quails ever +Beat mine, inhooped, at odds. I will to Egypt: +And though I make this marriage for my peace, +I’ th’ East my pleasure lies. + + Enter Ventidius. + +O, come, Ventidius, +You must to Parthia. Your commission’s ready. +Follow me and receive ’t. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. A street. + + Enter Lepidus, Maecenas and Agrippa. + +LEPIDUS. +Trouble yourselves no further. Pray you hasten +Your generals after. + +AGRIPPA. +Sir, Mark Antony +Will e’en but kiss Octavia, and we’ll follow. + +LEPIDUS. +Till I shall see you in your soldier’s dress, +Which will become you both, farewell. + +MAECENAS. +We shall, +As I conceive the journey, be at the Mount +Before you, Lepidus. + +LEPIDUS. +Your way is shorter; +My purposes do draw me much about. +You’ll win two days upon me. + +BOTH. +Sir, good success! + +LEPIDUS. +Farewell. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras, Alexas. + +CLEOPATRA. +Give me some music—music, moody food +Of us that trade in love. + +ALL. +The music, ho! + + Enter Mardian, the eunuch. + +CLEOPATRA. +Let it alone. Let’s to billiards. Come, Charmian. + +CHARMIAN. +My arm is sore. Best play with Mardian. + +CLEOPATRA. +As well a woman with an eunuch played +As with a woman. Come, you’ll play with me, sir? + +MARDIAN. +As well as I can, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +And when good will is showed, though’t come too short, +The actor may plead pardon. I’ll none now. +Give me mine angle; we’ll to the river. There, +My music playing far off, I will betray +Tawny-finned fishes. My bended hook shall pierce +Their slimy jaws, and as I draw them up +I’ll think them every one an Antony, +And say “Ah, ha! You’re caught.” + +CHARMIAN. +’Twas merry when +You wagered on your angling; when your diver +Did hang a salt fish on his hook, which he +With fervency drew up. + +CLEOPATRA. +That time?—O times!— +I laughed him out of patience; and that night +I laughed him into patience, and next morn, +Ere the ninth hour, I drunk him to his bed, +Then put my tires and mantles on him, whilst +I wore his sword Philippan. + + Enter Messenger. + +O! from Italy! +Ram thou thy fruitful tidings in mine ears, +That long time have been barren. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, madam— + +CLEOPATRA. +Antony’s dead! If thou say so, villain, +Thou kill’st thy mistress. But well and free, +If thou so yield him, there is gold, and here +My bluest veins to kiss, a hand that kings +Have lipped, and trembled kissing. + +MESSENGER. +First, madam, he’s well. + +CLEOPATRA. +Why, there’s more gold. +But sirrah, mark, we use +To say the dead are well. Bring it to that, +The gold I give thee will I melt and pour +Down thy ill-uttering throat. + +MESSENGER. +Good madam, hear me. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well, go to, I will. +But there’s no goodness in thy face if Antony +Be free and healthful. So tart a favour +To trumpet such good tidings! If not well, +Thou shouldst come like a Fury crowned with snakes, +Not like a formal man. + +MESSENGER. +Will’t please you hear me? + +CLEOPATRA. +I have a mind to strike thee ere thou speak’st. +Yet if thou say Antony lives, is well, +Or friends with Caesar, or not captive to him, +I’ll set thee in a shower of gold and hail +Rich pearls upon thee. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, he’s well. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well said. + +MESSENGER. +And friends with Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +Th’ art an honest man. + +MESSENGER. +Caesar and he are greater friends than ever. + +CLEOPATRA. +Make thee a fortune from me. + +MESSENGER. +But yet, madam— + +CLEOPATRA. +I do not like “But yet”, it does allay +The good precedence. Fie upon “But yet”! +“But yet” is as a gaoler to bring forth +Some monstrous malefactor. Prithee, friend, +Pour out the pack of matter to mine ear, +The good and bad together: he’s friends with Caesar, +In state of health, thou say’st; and, thou say’st, free. + +MESSENGER. +Free, madam? No. I made no such report. +He’s bound unto Octavia. + +CLEOPATRA. +For what good turn? + +MESSENGER. +For the best turn i’ th’ bed. + +CLEOPATRA. +I am pale, Charmian. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, he’s married to Octavia. + +CLEOPATRA. +The most infectious pestilence upon thee! + + [_Strikes him down._] + +MESSENGER. +Good madam, patience. + +CLEOPATRA. +What say you? + + [_Strikes him again._] + +Hence, horrible villain, or I’ll spurn thine eyes +Like balls before me! I’ll unhair thy head! + + [_She hales him up and down._] + +Thou shalt be whipped with wire and stewed in brine, +Smarting in ling’ring pickle. + +MESSENGER. +Gracious madam, +I that do bring the news made not the match. + +CLEOPATRA. +Say ’tis not so, a province I will give thee, +And make thy fortunes proud. The blow thou hadst +Shall make thy peace for moving me to rage, +And I will boot thee with what gift beside +Thy modesty can beg. + +MESSENGER. +He’s married, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +Rogue, thou hast lived too long. + + [_Draws a knife._] + +MESSENGER. +Nay then I’ll run. +What mean you, madam? I have made no fault. + + [_Exit._] + +CHARMIAN. +Good madam, keep yourself within yourself. +The man is innocent. + +CLEOPATRA. +Some innocents ’scape not the thunderbolt. +Melt Egypt into Nile, and kindly creatures +Turn all to serpents! Call the slave again. +Though I am mad, I will not bite him. Call! + +CHARMIAN. +He is afeard to come. + +CLEOPATRA. +I will not hurt him. + + [_Exit Charmian._] + +These hands do lack nobility that they strike +A meaner than myself, since I myself +Have given myself the cause. + + Enter the Messenger again with Charmian. + +Come hither, sir. +Though it be honest, it is never good +To bring bad news. Give to a gracious message +An host of tongues, but let ill tidings tell +Themselves when they be felt. + +MESSENGER. +I have done my duty. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is he married? +I cannot hate thee worser than I do +If thou again say “Yes.” + +MESSENGER. +He’s married, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still! + +MESSENGER. +Should I lie, madam? + +CLEOPATRA. +O, I would thou didst, +So half my Egypt were submerged and made +A cistern for scaled snakes! Go, get thee hence. +Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me +Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married? + +MESSENGER. +I crave your highness’ pardon. + +CLEOPATRA. +He is married? + +MESSENGER. +Take no offence that I would not offend you. +To punish me for what you make me do +Seems much unequal. He’s married to Octavia. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, that his fault should make a knave of thee +That art not what thou’rt sure of! Get thee hence! +The merchandise which thou hast brought from Rome +Are all too dear for me. Lie they upon thy hand, +And be undone by ’em! + + [_Exit Messenger._] + +CHARMIAN. +Good your highness, patience. + +CLEOPATRA. +In praising Antony I have dispraised Caesar. + +CHARMIAN. +Many times, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +I am paid for’t now. +Lead me from hence; +I faint. O Iras, Charmian! ’Tis no matter. +Go to the fellow, good Alexas, bid him +Report the feature of Octavia, her years, +Her inclination; let him not leave out +The colour of her hair. Bring me word quickly. + + [_Exit Alexas._] + +Let him for ever go—let him not, Charmian. +Though he be painted one way like a Gorgon, +The other way ’s a Mars. [_To Mardian_] Bid you Alexas +Bring me word how tall she is. Pity me, Charmian, +But do not speak to me. Lead me to my chamber. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Near Misenum. + + Flourish. Enter Pompey and Menas at one door, with drum and trumpet; + at another, Caesar, Lepidus, Antony, Enobarbus, Maecenas, Agrippa, + with Soldiers marching. + +POMPEY. +Your hostages I have, so have you mine, +And we shall talk before we fight. + +CAESAR. +Most meet +That first we come to words, and therefore have we +Our written purposes before us sent, +Which if thou hast considered, let us know +If ’twill tie up thy discontented sword +And carry back to Sicily much tall youth +That else must perish here. + +POMPEY. +To you all three, +The senators alone of this great world, +Chief factors for the gods: I do not know +Wherefore my father should revengers want, +Having a son and friends, since Julius Caesar, +Who at Philippi the good Brutus ghosted, +There saw you labouring for him. What was’t +That moved pale Cassius to conspire? And what +Made the all-honoured, honest Roman, Brutus, +With the armed rest, courtiers of beauteous freedom, +To drench the Capitol, but that they would +Have one man but a man? And that is it +Hath made me rig my navy, at whose burden +The angered ocean foams, with which I meant +To scourge th’ ingratitude that despiteful Rome +Cast on my noble father. + +CAESAR. +Take your time. + +ANTONY. +Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails. +We’ll speak with thee at sea. At land thou know’st +How much we do o’ercount thee. + +POMPEY. +At land indeed +Thou dost o’ercount me of my father’s house; +But since the cuckoo builds not for himself, +Remain in’t as thou mayst. + +LEPIDUS. +Be pleased to tell us— +For this is from the present—how you take +The offers we have sent you. + +CAESAR. +There’s the point. + +ANTONY. +Which do not be entreated to, but weigh +What it is worth embraced. + +CAESAR. +And what may follow +To try a larger fortune. + +POMPEY. +You have made me offer +Of Sicily, Sardinia; and I must +Rid all the sea of pirates; then to send +Measures of wheat to Rome. This ’greed upon, +To part with unhacked edges and bear back +Our targes undinted. + +CAESAR, ANTONY, and LEPIDUS. +That’s our offer. + +POMPEY. +Know, then, +I came before you here a man prepared +To take this offer. But Mark Antony +Put me to some impatience. Though I lose +The praise of it by telling, you must know +When Caesar and your brother were at blows, +Your mother came to Sicily and did find +Her welcome friendly. + +ANTONY. +I have heard it, Pompey, +And am well studied for a liberal thanks +Which I do owe you. + +POMPEY. +Let me have your hand. +I did not think, sir, to have met you here. + +ANTONY. +The beds i’ th’ East are soft; and thanks to you, +That called me timelier than my purpose hither, +For I have gained by ’t. + +CAESAR. +Since I saw you last, +There is a change upon you. + +POMPEY. +Well, I know not +What counts harsh Fortune casts upon my face, +But in my bosom shall she never come +To make my heart her vassal. + +LEPIDUS. +Well met here. + +POMPEY. +I hope so, Lepidus. Thus we are agreed. +I crave our composition may be written +And sealed between us. + +CAESAR. +That’s the next to do. + +POMPEY. +We’ll feast each other ere we part, and let’s +Draw lots who shall begin. + +ANTONY. +That will I, Pompey. + +POMPEY. +No, Antony, take the lot. +But, first or last, your fine Egyptian cookery +Shall have the fame. I have heard that Julius Caesar +Grew fat with feasting there. + +ANTONY. +You have heard much. + +POMPEY. +I have fair meanings, sir. + +ANTONY. +And fair words to them. + +POMPEY. +Then so much have I heard. +And I have heard Apollodorus carried— + +ENOBARBUS. +No more of that. He did so. + +POMPEY. +What, I pray you? + +ENOBARBUS. +A certain queen to Caesar in a mattress. + +POMPEY. +I know thee now. How far’st thou, soldier? + +ENOBARBUS. +Well; +And well am like to do, for I perceive +Four feasts are toward. + +POMPEY. +Let me shake thy hand. +I never hated thee. I have seen thee fight +When I have envied thy behaviour. + +ENOBARBUS. +Sir, +I never loved you much, but I ha’ praised ye +When you have well deserved ten times as much +As I have said you did. + +POMPEY. +Enjoy thy plainness; +It nothing ill becomes thee. +Aboard my galley I invite you all. +Will you lead, lords? + +CAESAR, ANTONY, and LEPIDUS. +Show’s the way, sir. + +POMPEY. +Come. + + [_Exeunt all but Enobarbus and Menas._] + +MENAS. +[_Aside_.] Thy father, Pompey, would ne’er have made this treaty.— +You and I have known, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +At sea, I think. + +MENAS. +We have, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +You have done well by water. + +MENAS. +And you by land. + +ENOBARBUS. +I will praise any man that will praise me, though it cannot be denied +what I have done by land. + +MENAS. +Nor what I have done by water. + +ENOBARBUS. +Yes, something you can deny for your own safety: you have been a great +thief by sea. + +MENAS. +And you by land. + +ENOBARBUS. +There I deny my land service. But give me your hand, Menas. If our eyes +had authority, here they might take two thieves kissing. + +MENAS. +All men’s faces are true, whatsome’er their hands are. + +ENOBARBUS. +But there is never a fair woman has a true face. + +MENAS. +No slander. They steal hearts. + +ENOBARBUS. +We came hither to fight with you. + +MENAS. +For my part, I am sorry it is turned to a drinking. Pompey doth this +day laugh away his fortune. + +ENOBARBUS. +If he do, sure he cannot weep ’t back again. + +MENAS. +You have said, sir. We looked not for Mark Antony here. Pray you, is he +married to Cleopatra? + +ENOBARBUS. +Caesar’s sister is called Octavia. + +MENAS. +True, sir. She was the wife of Caius Marcellus. + +ENOBARBUS. +But she is now the wife of Marcus Antonius. + +MENAS. +Pray you, sir? + +ENOBARBUS. +’Tis true. + +MENAS. +Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together. + +ENOBARBUS. +If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not prophesy so. + +MENAS. +I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage than the +love of the parties. + +ENOBARBUS. +I think so too. But you shall find the band that seems to tie their +friendship together will be the very strangler of their amity. Octavia +is of a holy, cold, and still conversation. + +MENAS. +Who would not have his wife so? + +ENOBARBUS. +Not he that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony. He will to his +Egyptian dish again. Then shall the sighs of Octavia blow the fire up +in Caesar, and, as I said before, that which is the strength of their +amity shall prove the immediate author of their variance. Antony will +use his affection where it is. He married but his occasion here. + +MENAS. +And thus it may be. Come, sir, will you aboard? I have a health for +you. + +ENOBARBUS. +I shall take it, sir. We have used our throats in Egypt. + +MENAS. +Come, let’s away. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. On board Pompey’s Galley, lying near Misenum. + + Music. Enter two or three Servants with a banquet. + +FIRST SERVANT. +Here they’ll be, man. Some o’ their plants are ill-rooted already; the +least wind i’ th’ world will blow them down. + +SECOND SERVANT. +Lepidus is high-coloured. + +FIRST SERVANT. +They have made him drink alms-drink. + +SECOND SERVANT. +As they pinch one another by the disposition, he cries out “no more”, +reconciles them to his entreaty and himself to th’ drink. + +FIRST SERVANT. +But it raises the greater war between him and his discretion. + +SECOND SERVANT. +Why, this it is to have a name in great men’s fellowship. I had as lief +have a reed that will do me no service as a partisan I could not heave. + +FIRST SERVANT. +To be called into a huge sphere, and not to be seen to move in ’t, are +the holes where eyes should be, which pitifully disaster the cheeks. + + A sennet sounded. Enter Caesar, Antony, Pompey, Lepidus, Agrippa, + Maecenas, Enobarbus, Menas with other Captains. + +ANTONY. +[_To Caesar_.] Thus do they, sir: they take the flow o’ th’ Nile +By certain scales i’ th’ pyramid; they know +By th’ height, the lowness, or the mean, if dearth +Or foison follow. The higher Nilus swells, +The more it promises. As it ebbs, the seedsman +Upon the slime and ooze scatters his grain, +And shortly comes to harvest. + +LEPIDUS. +You’ve strange serpents there? + +ANTONY. +Ay, Lepidus. + +LEPIDUS. +Your serpent of Egypt is bred now of your mud by the operation of your +sun; so is your crocodile. + +ANTONY. +They are so. + +POMPEY. +Sit, and some wine! A health to Lepidus! + +LEPIDUS. +I am not so well as I should be, but I’ll ne’er out. + +ENOBARBUS. +Not till you have slept. I fear me you’ll be in till then. + +LEPIDUS. +Nay, certainly, I have heard the Ptolemies’ pyramises are very goodly +things. Without contradiction I have heard that. + +MENAS. +[_Aside to Pompey_.] Pompey, a word. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas_.] Say in mine ear what is ’t? + +MENAS. +[_Whispers in ’s ear._] Forsake thy seat, I do beseech thee, captain, +And hear me speak a word. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas._] Forbear me till anon.— +This wine for Lepidus! + +LEPIDUS. +What manner o’ thing is your crocodile? + +ANTONY. +It is shaped, sir, like itself, and it is as broad as it hath breadth. +It is just so high as it is, and moves with it own organs. It lives by +that which nourisheth it, and the elements once out of it, it +transmigrates. + +LEPIDUS. +What colour is it of? + +ANTONY. +Of its own colour too. + +LEPIDUS. +’Tis a strange serpent. + +ANTONY. +’Tis so, and the tears of it are wet. + +CAESAR. +Will this description satisfy him? + +ANTONY. +With the health that Pompey gives him, else he is a very epicure. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas._] Go hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that? Away! +Do as I bid you.—Where’s this cup I called for? + +MENAS. +[_Aside to Pompey_.] If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me, +Rise from thy stool. + +POMPEY. +[_Aside to Menas_.] I think thou’rt mad. + + [_Rises and walks aside._] + +The matter? + +MENAS. +I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes. + +POMPEY. +Thou hast served me with much faith. What’s else to say?— +Be jolly, lords. + +ANTONY. +These quicksands, Lepidus, +Keep off them, for you sink. + +MENAS. +Wilt thou be lord of all the world? + +POMPEY. +What sayst thou? + +MENAS. +Wilt thou be lord of the whole world? +That’s twice. + +POMPEY. +How should that be? + +MENAS. +But entertain it, +And though you think me poor, I am the man +Will give thee all the world. + +POMPEY. +Hast thou drunk well? + +MENAS. +No, Pompey, I have kept me from the cup. +Thou art, if thou dar’st be, the earthly Jove. +Whate’er the ocean pales or sky inclips +Is thine, if thou wilt have’t. + +POMPEY. +Show me which way. + +MENAS. +These three world-sharers, these competitors, +Are in thy vessel. Let me cut the cable, +And when we are put off, fall to their throats. +All then is thine. + +POMPEY. +Ah, this thou shouldst have done +And not have spoke on ’t! In me ’tis villainy; +In thee ’t had been good service. Thou must know +’Tis not my profit that does lead mine honour; +Mine honour it. Repent that e’er thy tongue +Hath so betray’d thine act. Being done unknown, +I should have found it afterwards well done, +But must condemn it now. Desist, and drink. + +MENAS. +[_Aside_.] For this, +I’ll never follow thy palled fortunes more. +Who seeks, and will not take when once ’tis offered, +Shall never find it more. + +POMPEY. +This health to Lepidus! + +ANTONY. +Bear him ashore. I’ll pledge it for him, Pompey. + +ENOBARBUS. +Here’s to thee, Menas! + +MENAS. +Enobarbus, welcome! + +POMPEY. +Fill till the cup be hid. + +ENOBARBUS. +There’s a strong fellow, Menas. + + [_Pointing to the servant who carries off Lepidus._] + +MENAS. +Why? + +ENOBARBUS. +’A bears the third part of the world, man. Seest not? + +MENAS. +The third part, then, is drunk. Would it were all, +That it might go on wheels! + +ENOBARBUS. +Drink thou. Increase the reels. + +MENAS. +Come. + +POMPEY. +This is not yet an Alexandrian feast. + +ANTONY. +It ripens towards it. Strike the vessels, ho! +Here is to Caesar! + +CAESAR. +I could well forbear’t. +It’s monstrous labour when I wash my brain +And it grows fouler. + +ANTONY. +Be a child o’ the time. + +CAESAR. +Possess it, I’ll make answer. +But I had rather fast from all, four days, +Than drink so much in one. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_To Antony_.] Ha, my brave emperor, +Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals +And celebrate our drink? + +POMPEY. +Let’s ha’t, good soldier. + +ANTONY. +Come, let’s all take hands +Till that the conquering wine hath steeped our sense +In soft and delicate Lethe. + +ENOBARBUS. +All take hands. +Make battery to our ears with the loud music, +The while I’ll place you; then the boy shall sing. +The holding every man shall beat as loud +As his strong sides can volley. + + Music plays. Enobarbus places them hand in hand. + + THE SONG. + Come, thou monarch of the vine, + Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! + In thy vats our cares be drowned, + With thy grapes our hairs be crowned. + Cup us till the world go round, + Cup us till the world go round! + +CAESAR. +What would you more? Pompey, good night. Good brother, +Let me request you off. Our graver business +Frowns at this levity.—Gentle lords, let’s part. +You see we have burnt our cheeks. Strong Enobarb +Is weaker than the wine, and mine own tongue +Splits what it speaks. The wild disguise hath almost +Anticked us all. What needs more words. Good night. +Good Antony, your hand. + +POMPEY. +I’ll try you on the shore. + +ANTONY. +And shall, sir. Give’s your hand. + +POMPEY. +O Antony, +You have my father’s house. +But, what? We are friends. Come, down into the boat. + +ENOBARBUS. +Take heed you fall not. + + [_Exeunt Pompey, Caesar, Antony and Attendants._] + +Menas, I’ll not on shore. + +MENAS. +No, to my cabin. These drums, these trumpets, flutes! What! +Let Neptune hear we bid a loud farewell +To these great fellows. Sound and be hanged, sound out! + + [_Sound a flourish with drums._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Hoo, says ’a! There’s my cap! + +MENAS. +Hoo! Noble captain, come. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + + +SCENE I. A plain in Syria. + + Enter Ventidius as it were in triumph, with Silius and other Romans, + Officers and Soldiers; the dead body of Pacorus borne before him. + +VENTIDIUS. +Now, darting Parthia, art thou struck, and now +Pleased Fortune does of Marcus Crassus’ death +Make me revenger. Bear the king’s son’s body +Before our army. Thy Pacorus, Orodes, +Pays this for Marcus Crassus. + +SILIUS. +Noble Ventidius, +Whilst yet with Parthian blood thy sword is warm, +The fugitive Parthians follow. Spur through Media, +Mesopotamia, and the shelters whither +The routed fly. So thy grand captain Antony +Shall set thee on triumphant chariots, and +Put garlands on thy head. + +VENTIDIUS. +O Silius, Silius, +I have done enough. A lower place, note well, +May make too great an act. For learn this, Silius: +Better to leave undone than by our deed +Acquire too high a fame when him we serve’s away. +Caesar and Antony have ever won +More in their officer, than person. Sossius, +One of my place in Syria, his lieutenant, +For quick accumulation of renown, +Which he achieved by th’ minute, lost his favour. +Who does i’ th’ wars more than his captain can +Becomes his captain’s captain; and ambition, +The soldier’s virtue, rather makes choice of loss +Than gain which darkens him. +I could do more to do Antonius good, +But ’twould offend him, and in his offence +Should my performance perish. + +SILIUS. +Thou hast, Ventidius, that +Without the which a soldier and his sword +Grants scarce distinction. Thou wilt write to Antony? + +VENTIDIUS. +I’ll humbly signify what in his name, +That magical word of war, we have effected; +How, with his banners, and his well-paid ranks, +The ne’er-yet-beaten horse of Parthia +We have jaded out o’ th’ field. + +SILIUS. +Where is he now? + +VENTIDIUS. +He purposeth to Athens, whither, with what haste +The weight we must convey with ’s will permit, +We shall appear before him.—On there, pass along! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rome. An Ante-chamber in Caesar’s house. + + Enter Agrippa at one door, Enobarbus at another. + +AGRIPPA. +What, are the brothers parted? + +ENOBARBUS. +They have dispatched with Pompey; he is gone. +The other three are sealing. Octavia weeps +To part from Rome. Caesar is sad, and Lepidus, +Since Pompey’s feast, as Menas says, is troubled +With the greensickness. + +AGRIPPA. +’Tis a noble Lepidus. + +ENOBARBUS. +A very fine one. O, how he loves Caesar! + +AGRIPPA. +Nay, but how dearly he adores Mark Antony! + +ENOBARBUS. +Caesar? Why he’s the Jupiter of men. + +AGRIPPA. +What’s Antony? The god of Jupiter. + +ENOBARBUS. +Spake you of Caesar? How, the nonpareil! + +AGRIPPA. +O, Antony! O thou Arabian bird! + +ENOBARBUS. +Would you praise Caesar, say “Caesar”. Go no further. + +AGRIPPA. +Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. + +ENOBARBUS. +But he loves Caesar best, yet he loves Antony. +Hoo! Hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot +Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number—hoo!— +His love to Antony. But as for Caesar, +Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. + +AGRIPPA. +Both he loves. + +ENOBARBUS. +They are his shards, and he their beetle. + + [_Trumpets within._] + +So, +This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa. + +AGRIPPA. +Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell. + + Enter Caesar, Antony, Lepidus and Octavia. + +ANTONY. +No further, sir. + +CAESAR. +You take from me a great part of myself. +Use me well in’t. Sister, prove such a wife +As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest bond +Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony, +Let not the piece of virtue which is set +Betwixt us, as the cement of our love +To keep it builded, be the ram to batter +The fortress of it. For better might we +Have loved without this mean, if on both parts +This be not cherished. + +ANTONY. +Make me not offended +In your distrust. + +CAESAR. +I have said. + +ANTONY. +You shall not find, +Though you be therein curious, the least cause +For what you seem to fear. So the gods keep you, +And make the hearts of Romans serve your ends. +We will here part. + +CAESAR. +Farewell, my dearest sister, fare thee well. +The elements be kind to thee, and make +Thy spirits all of comfort! Fare thee well. + +OCTAVIA. +My noble brother! + +ANTONY. +The April’s in her eyes. It is love’s spring, +And these the showers to bring it on.—Be cheerful. + +OCTAVIA. +Sir, look well to my husband’s house, and— + +CAESAR. +What, Octavia? + +OCTAVIA. +I’ll tell you in your ear. + +ANTONY. +Her tongue will not obey her heart, nor can +Her heart inform her tongue—the swan’s-down feather, +That stands upon the swell at the full of tide, +And neither way inclines. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Agrippa_.] Will Caesar weep? + +AGRIPPA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] He has a cloud in ’s face. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Agrippa_.] He were the worse for that were he a horse; +So is he, being a man. + +AGRIPPA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] Why, Enobarbus, +When Antony found Julius Caesar dead, +He cried almost to roaring, and he wept +When at Philippi he found Brutus slain. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Agrippa_.] That year, indeed, he was troubled with a rheum; +What willingly he did confound he wailed, +Believe ’t, till I weep too. + +CAESAR. +No, sweet Octavia, +You shall hear from me still. The time shall not +Outgo my thinking on you. + +ANTONY. +Come, sir, come, +I’ll wrestle with you in my strength of love. +Look, here I have you, thus I let you go, +And give you to the gods. + +CAESAR. +Adieu, be happy! + +LEPIDUS. +Let all the number of the stars give light +To thy fair way! + +CAESAR. +Farewell, farewell! + + [_Kisses Octavia._] + +ANTONY. +Farewell! + + [_Trumpets sound. Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Alexas. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where is the fellow? + +ALEXAS. +Half afeared to come. + +CLEOPATRA. +Go to, go to. + + Enter a Messenger as before. + +Come hither, sir. + +ALEXAS. +Good majesty, +Herod of Jewry dare not look upon you +But when you are well pleased. + +CLEOPATRA. +That Herod’s head +I’ll have! But how, when Antony is gone, +Through whom I might command it?—Come thou near. + +MESSENGER. +Most gracious majesty! + +CLEOPATRA. +Didst thou behold Octavia? + +MESSENGER. +Ay, dread queen. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where? + +MESSENGER. +Madam, in Rome +I looked her in the face, and saw her led +Between her brother and Mark Antony. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is she as tall as me? + +MESSENGER. +She is not, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +Didst hear her speak? Is she shrill-tongued or low? + +MESSENGER. +Madam, I heard her speak. She is low-voiced. + +CLEOPATRA. +That’s not so good. He cannot like her long. + +CHARMIAN. +Like her? O Isis! ’Tis impossible. + +CLEOPATRA. +I think so, Charmian: dull of tongue and dwarfish! +What majesty is in her gait? Remember, +If e’er thou look’dst on majesty. + +MESSENGER. +She creeps. +Her motion and her station are as one. +She shows a body rather than a life, +A statue than a breather. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is this certain? + +MESSENGER. +Or I have no observance. + +CHARMIAN. +Three in Egypt +Cannot make better note. + +CLEOPATRA. +He’s very knowing; +I do perceive’t. There’s nothing in her yet. +The fellow has good judgment. + +CHARMIAN. +Excellent. + +CLEOPATRA. +Guess at her years, I prithee. + +MESSENGER. +Madam, +She was a widow. + +CLEOPATRA. +Widow! Charmian, hark! + +MESSENGER. +And I do think she’s thirty. + +CLEOPATRA. +Bear’st thou her face in mind? Is’t long or round? + +MESSENGER. +Round even to faultiness. + +CLEOPATRA. +For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so. +Her hair, what colour? + +MESSENGER. +Brown, madam, and her forehead +As low as she would wish it. + +CLEOPATRA. +There’s gold for thee. +Thou must not take my former sharpness ill. +I will employ thee back again; I find thee +Most fit for business. Go make thee ready; +Our letters are prepared. + + [_Exit Messenger._] + +CHARMIAN. +A proper man. + +CLEOPATRA. +Indeed, he is so. I repent me much +That so I harried him. Why, methinks, by him, +This creature’s no such thing. + +CHARMIAN. +Nothing, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +The man hath seen some majesty, and should know. + +CHARMIAN. +Hath he seen majesty? Isis else defend, +And serving you so long! + +CLEOPATRA. +I have one thing more to ask him yet, good Charmian. +But ’tis no matter; thou shalt bring him to me +Where I will write. All may be well enough. + +CHARMIAN. +I warrant you, madam. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Athens. A Room in Antony’s House. + + Enter Antony and Octavia. + +ANTONY. +Nay, nay, Octavia, not only that— +That were excusable, that and thousands more +Of semblable import—but he hath waged +New wars ’gainst Pompey; made his will, and read it +To public ear; +Spoke scantly of me; when perforce he could not +But pay me terms of honour, cold and sickly +He vented them; most narrow measure lent me; +When the best hint was given him, he not took ’t, +Or did it from his teeth. + +OCTAVIA. +O, my good lord, +Believe not all, or if you must believe, +Stomach not all. A more unhappy lady, +If this division chance, ne’er stood between, +Praying for both parts. +The good gods will mock me presently +When I shall pray “O, bless my lord and husband!” +Undo that prayer by crying out as loud +“O, bless my brother!” Husband win, win brother, +Prays and destroys the prayer; no midway +’Twixt these extremes at all. + +ANTONY. +Gentle Octavia, +Let your best love draw to that point which seeks +Best to preserve it. If I lose mine honour, +I lose myself; better I were not yours +Than yours so branchless. But, as you requested, +Yourself shall go between’s. The meantime, lady, +I’ll raise the preparation of a war +Shall stain your brother. Make your soonest haste, +So your desires are yours. + +OCTAVIA. +Thanks to my lord. +The Jove of power make me, most weak, most weak, +Your reconciler! Wars ’twixt you twain would be +As if the world should cleave, and that slain men +Should solder up the rift. + +ANTONY. +When it appears to you where this begins, +Turn your displeasure that way, for our faults +Can never be so equal that your love +Can equally move with them. Provide your going; +Choose your own company, and command what cost +Your heart has mind to. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Athens. Another Room in Antony’s House. + + Enter Enobarbus and Eros meeting. + +ENOBARBUS. +How now, friend Eros? + +EROS. +There’s strange news come, sir. + +ENOBARBUS. +What, man? + +EROS. +Caesar and Lepidus have made wars upon Pompey. + +ENOBARBUS. +This is old. What is the success? + +EROS. +Caesar, having made use of him in the wars ’gainst Pompey, presently +denied him rivality; would not let him partake in the glory of the +action, and, not resting here, accuses him of letters he had formerly +wrote to Pompey; upon his own appeal, seizes him. So the poor third is +up, till death enlarge his confine. + +ENOBARBUS. +Then, world, thou hast a pair of chaps, no more, +And throw between them all the food thou hast, +They’ll grind the one the other. Where’s Antony? + +EROS. +He’s walking in the garden, thus, and spurns +The rush that lies before him; cries “Fool Lepidus!” +And threats the throat of that his officer +That murdered Pompey. + +ENOBARBUS. +Our great navy’s rigged. + +EROS. +For Italy and Caesar. More, Domitius: +My lord desires you presently. My news +I might have told hereafter. + +ENOBARBUS. +’Twill be naught, +But let it be. Bring me to Antony. + +EROS. +Come, sir. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Rome. A Room in Caesar’s House. + + Enter Agrippa, Maecenas and Caesar. + +CAESAR. +Contemning Rome, he has done all this, and more +In Alexandria. Here’s the manner of ’t: +I’ th’ market-place, on a tribunal silvered, +Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold +Were publicly enthroned. At the feet sat +Caesarion, whom they call my father’s son, +And all the unlawful issue that their lust +Since then hath made between them. Unto her +He gave the stablishment of Egypt; made her +Of lower Syria, Cyprus, Lydia, +Absolute queen. + +MAECENAS. +This in the public eye? + +CAESAR. +I’ th’ common showplace where they exercise. +His sons he there proclaimed the kings of kings: +Great Media, Parthia, and Armenia +He gave to Alexander; to Ptolemy he assigned +Syria, Cilicia, and Phoenicia. She +In th’ habiliments of the goddess Isis +That day appeared, and oft before gave audience, +As ’tis reported, so. + +MAECENAS. +Let Rome be thus informed. + +AGRIPPA. +Who, queasy with his insolence already, +Will their good thoughts call from him. + +CAESAR. +The people knows it and have now received +His accusations. + +AGRIPPA. +Who does he accuse? + +CAESAR. +Caesar, and that, having in Sicily +Sextus Pompeius spoiled, we had not rated him +His part o’ th’ isle. Then does he say he lent me +Some shipping, unrestored. Lastly, he frets +That Lepidus of the triumvirate +Should be deposed and, being, that we detain +All his revenue. + +AGRIPPA. +Sir, this should be answered. + +CAESAR. +’Tis done already, and messenger gone. +I have told him Lepidus was grown too cruel, +That he his high authority abused, +And did deserve his change. For what I have conquered +I grant him part; but then in his Armenia +And other of his conquered kingdoms, I +Demand the like. + +MAECENAS. +He’ll never yield to that. + +CAESAR. +Nor must not then be yielded to in this. + + Enter Octavia with her train. + +OCTAVIA. +Hail, Caesar, and my lord! Hail, most dear Caesar! + +CAESAR. +That ever I should call thee castaway! + +OCTAVIA. +You have not called me so, nor have you cause. + +CAESAR. +Why have you stolen upon us thus? You come not +Like Caesar’s sister. The wife of Antony +Should have an army for an usher, and +The neighs of horse to tell of her approach +Long ere she did appear. The trees by th’ way +Should have borne men, and expectation fainted, +Longing for what it had not. Nay, the dust +Should have ascended to the roof of heaven, +Raised by your populous troops. But you are come +A market-maid to Rome, and have prevented +The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, +Is often left unloved. We should have met you +By sea and land, supplying every stage +With an augmented greeting. + +OCTAVIA. +Good my lord, +To come thus was I not constrained, but did it +On my free will. My lord, Mark Antony, +Hearing that you prepared for war, acquainted +My grieved ear withal, whereon I begged +His pardon for return. + +CAESAR. +Which soon he granted, +Being an abstract ’tween his lust and him. + +OCTAVIA. +Do not say so, my lord. + +CAESAR. +I have eyes upon him, +And his affairs come to me on the wind. +Where is he now? + +OCTAVIA. +My lord, in Athens. + +CAESAR. +No, my most wronged sister. Cleopatra +Hath nodded him to her. He hath given his empire +Up to a whore, who now are levying +The kings o’ th’ earth for war. He hath assembled +Bocchus, the king of Libya; Archelaus +Of Cappadocia; Philadelphos, king +Of Paphlagonia; the Thracian king, Adallas; +King Manchus of Arabia; King of Pont; +Herod of Jewry; Mithridates, king +Of Comagene; Polemon and Amyntas, +The kings of Mede and Lycaonia, +With a more larger list of sceptres. + +OCTAVIA. +Ay me, most wretched, +That have my heart parted betwixt two friends +That does afflict each other! + +CAESAR. +Welcome hither. +Your letters did withhold our breaking forth +Till we perceived both how you were wrong led +And we in negligent danger. Cheer your heart. +Be you not troubled with the time, which drives +O’er your content these strong necessities, +But let determined things to destiny +Hold unbewailed their way. Welcome to Rome, +Nothing more dear to me. You are abused +Beyond the mark of thought, and the high gods, +To do you justice, make their ministers +Of us and those that love you. Best of comfort, +And ever welcome to us. + +AGRIPPA. +Welcome, lady. + +MAECENAS. +Welcome, dear madam. +Each heart in Rome does love and pity you. +Only th’ adulterous Antony, most large +In his abominations, turns you off +And gives his potent regiment to a trull +That noises it against us. + +OCTAVIA. +Is it so, sir? + +CAESAR. +Most certain. Sister, welcome. Pray you +Be ever known to patience. My dear’st sister! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Antony’s Camp near the Promontory of Actium. + + Enter Cleopatra and Enobarbus. + +CLEOPATRA. +I will be even with thee, doubt it not. + +ENOBARBUS. +But why, why, why? + +CLEOPATRA. +Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars +And say’st it is not fit. + +ENOBARBUS. +Well, is it, is it? + +CLEOPATRA. +Is ’t not denounced against us? Why should not we +Be there in person? + +ENOBARBUS. +Well, I could reply: +If we should serve with horse and mares together, +The horse were merely lost. The mares would bear +A soldier and his horse. + +CLEOPATRA. +What is’t you say? + +ENOBARBUS. +Your presence needs must puzzle Antony, +Take from his heart, take from his brain, from ’s time, +What should not then be spared. He is already +Traduced for levity, and ’tis said in Rome +That Photinus, an eunuch, and your maids +Manage this war. + +CLEOPATRA. +Sink Rome, and their tongues rot +That speak against us! A charge we bear i’ th’ war, +And, as the president of my kingdom, will +Appear there for a man. Speak not against it. +I will not stay behind. + + Enter Antony and Canidius. + +ENOBARBUS. +Nay, I have done. +Here comes the Emperor. + +ANTONY. +Is it not strange, Canidius, +That from Tarentum and Brundusium +He could so quickly cut the Ionian sea +And take in Toryne?—You have heard on ’t, sweet? + +CLEOPATRA. +Celerity is never more admired +Than by the negligent. + +ANTONY. +A good rebuke, +Which might have well becomed the best of men +To taunt at slackness.—Canidius, we +Will fight with him by sea. + +CLEOPATRA. +By sea, what else? + +CANIDIUS. +Why will my lord do so? + +ANTONY. +For that he dares us to ’t. + +ENOBARBUS. +So hath my lord dared him to single fight. + +CANIDIUS. +Ay, and to wage this battle at Pharsalia, +Where Caesar fought with Pompey. But these offers, +Which serve not for his vantage, he shakes off, +And so should you. + +ENOBARBUS. +Your ships are not well manned, +Your mariners are muleteers, reapers, people +Engrossed by swift impress. In Caesar’s fleet +Are those that often have ’gainst Pompey fought. +Their ships are yare, yours heavy. No disgrace +Shall fall you for refusing him at sea, +Being prepared for land. + +ANTONY. +By sea, by sea. + +ENOBARBUS. +Most worthy sir, you therein throw away +The absolute soldiership you have by land; +Distract your army, which doth most consist +Of war-marked footmen; leave unexecuted +Your own renowned knowledge; quite forgo +The way which promises assurance; and +Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard +From firm security. + +ANTONY. +I’ll fight at sea. + +CLEOPATRA. +I have sixty sails, Caesar none better. + +ANTONY. +Our overplus of shipping will we burn, +And with the rest full-manned, from th’ head of Actium +Beat th’ approaching Caesar. But if we fail, +We then can do ’t at land. + + Enter a Messenger. + +Thy business? + +MESSENGER. +The news is true, my lord; he is descried. +Caesar has taken Toryne. + +ANTONY. +Can he be there in person? ’Tis impossible; +Strange that his power should be. Canidius, +Our nineteen legions thou shalt hold by land, +And our twelve thousand horse. We’ll to our ship. +Away, my Thetis! + + Enter a Soldier. + +How now, worthy soldier? + +SOLDIER. +O noble emperor, do not fight by sea. +Trust not to rotten planks. Do you misdoubt +This sword and these my wounds? Let th’ Egyptians +And the Phoenicians go a-ducking. We +Have used to conquer standing on the earth +And fighting foot to foot. + +ANTONY. +Well, well, away. + + [_Exeunt Antony, Cleopatra and Enobarbus._] + +SOLDIER. +By Hercules, I think I am i’ th’ right. + +CANIDIUS. +Soldier, thou art. But his whole action grows +Not in the power on ’t. So our leader’s led, +And we are women’s men. + +SOLDIER. +You keep by land +The legions and the horse whole, do you not? + +CANIDIUS. +Marcus Octavius, Marcus Justeius, +Publicola, and Caelius are for sea, +But we keep whole by land. This speed of Caesar’s +Carries beyond belief. + +SOLDIER. +While he was yet in Rome, +His power went out in such distractions as +Beguiled all spies. + +CANIDIUS. +Who’s his lieutenant, hear you? + +SOLDIER. +They say one Taurus. + +CANIDIUS. +Well I know the man. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +The Emperor calls Canidius. + +CANIDIUS. +With news the time’s with labour, and throes forth +Each minute some. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. A plain near Actium. + + Enter Caesar with his army and Taurus marching. + +CAESAR. +Taurus! + +TAURUS. +My lord? + +CAESAR. +Strike not by land; keep whole; provoke not battle +Till we have done at sea. Do not exceed +The prescript of this scroll. Our fortune lies +Upon this jump. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IX. Another part of the Plain. + + Enter Antony and Enobarbus. + +ANTONY. +Set we our squadrons on yon side o’ th’ hill +In eye of Caesar’s battle, from which place +We may the number of the ships behold +And so proceed accordingly. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE X. Another part of the Plain. + +Canidius marching with his land army one way over the stage, and +Taurus, the Lieutenant of Caesar, with his Army, the other way. After +their going in, is heard the noise of a sea fight. + + Alarum. Enter Enobarbus. + +ENOBARBUS. +Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer. +Th’ Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, +With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder. +To see ’t mine eyes are blasted. + + Enter Scarus. + +SCARUS. +Gods and goddesses, +All the whole synod of them! + +ENOBARBUS. +What’s thy passion? + +SCARUS. +The greater cantle of the world is lost +With very ignorance. We have kissed away +Kingdoms and provinces. + +ENOBARBUS. +How appears the fight? + +SCARUS. +On our side, like the tokened pestilence, +Where death is sure. Yon ribaudred nag of Egypt, +Whom leprosy o’ertake, i’ th’ midst o’ th’ fight, +When vantage like a pair of twins appeared, +Both as the same—or, rather, ours the elder— +The breeze upon her, like a cow in June, +Hoists sails and flies. + +ENOBARBUS. +That I beheld. +Mine eyes did sicken at the sight and could not +Endure a further view. + +SCARUS. +She once being loofed, +The noble ruin of her magic, Antony, +Claps on his sea-wing and, like a doting mallard, +Leaving the fight in height, flies after her. +I never saw an action of such shame. +Experience, manhood, honour, ne’er before +Did violate so itself. + +ENOBARBUS. +Alack, alack! + + Enter Canidius. + +CANIDIUS. +Our fortune on the sea is out of breath +And sinks most lamentably. Had our general +Been what he knew himself, it had gone well. +O, he has given example for our flight +Most grossly by his own! + +ENOBARBUS. +Ay, are you thereabouts? +Why, then, good night indeed. + +CANIDIUS. +Toward Peloponnesus are they fled. + +SCARUS. +’Tis easy to’t, and there I will attend +What further comes. + +CANIDIUS. +To Caesar will I render +My legions and my horse. Six kings already +Show me the way of yielding. + +ENOBARBUS. +I’ll yet follow +The wounded chance of Antony, though my reason +Sits in the wind against me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XI. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Antony with attendants. + +ANTONY. +Hark, the land bids me tread no more upon’t. +It is ashamed to bear me. Friends, come hither. +I am so lated in the world that I +Have lost my way for ever. I have a ship +Laden with gold. Take that, divide it. Fly, +And make your peace with Caesar. + +ALL. +Fly? Not we. + +ANTONY. +I have fled myself, and have instructed cowards +To run and show their shoulders. Friends, be gone. +I have myself resolved upon a course +Which has no need of you. Be gone. +My treasure’s in the harbour. Take it. O, +I followed that I blush to look upon. +My very hairs do mutiny, for the white +Reprove the brown for rashness, and they them +For fear and doting. Friends, be gone. You shall +Have letters from me to some friends that will +Sweep your way for you. Pray you, look not sad, +Nor make replies of loathness. Take the hint +Which my despair proclaims. Let that be left +Which leaves itself. To the sea-side straightway. +I will possess you of that ship and treasure. +Leave me, I pray, a little—pray you, now, +Nay, do so; for indeed I have lost command. +Therefore I pray you. I’ll see you by and by. + + [_Sits down._] + + Enter Cleopatra led by Charmian, Iras and Eros. + +EROS. +Nay, gentle madam, to him! Comfort him. + +IRAS. +Do, most dear queen. + +CHARMIAN. +Do! Why, what else? + +CLEOPATRA. +Let me sit down. O Juno! + +ANTONY. +No, no, no, no, no. + +EROS. +See you here, sir? + +ANTONY. +O, fie, fie, fie! + +CHARMIAN. +Madam. + +IRAS. +Madam, O good empress! + +EROS. +Sir, sir! + +ANTONY. +Yes, my lord, yes. He at Philippi kept +His sword e’en like a dancer, while I struck +The lean and wrinkled Cassius, and ’twas I +That the mad Brutus ended. He alone +Dealt on lieutenantry, and no practice had +In the brave squares of war. Yet now—no matter. + +CLEOPATRA. +Ah, stand by. + +EROS. +The Queen, my lord, the Queen! + +IRAS. +Go to him, madam; speak to him. +He is unqualitied with very shame. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well then, sustain me. O! + +EROS. +Most noble sir, arise. The Queen approaches. +Her head’s declined, and death will seize her but +Your comfort makes the rescue. + +ANTONY. +I have offended reputation, +A most unnoble swerving. + +EROS. +Sir, the Queen. + +ANTONY. +O, whither hast thou led me, Egypt? See +How I convey my shame out of thine eyes +By looking back what I have left behind +’Stroyed in dishonour. + +CLEOPATRA. +O my lord, my lord, +Forgive my fearful sails! I little thought +You would have followed. + +ANTONY. +Egypt, thou knew’st too well +My heart was to thy rudder tied by th’ strings, +And thou shouldst tow me after. O’er my spirit +Thy full supremacy thou knew’st, and that +Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods +Command me. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, my pardon! + +ANTONY. +Now I must +To the young man send humble treaties, dodge +And palter in the shifts of lowness, who +With half the bulk o’ th’ world played as I pleased, +Making and marring fortunes. You did know +How much you were my conqueror, and that +My sword, made weak by my affection, would +Obey it on all cause. + +CLEOPATRA. +Pardon, pardon! + +ANTONY. +Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates +All that is won and lost. Give me a kiss. +Even this repays me. +We sent our schoolmaster. Is he come back? +Love, I am full of lead. Some wine +Within there, and our viands! Fortune knows +We scorn her most when most she offers blows. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XII. Caesar’s camp in Egypt. + + Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabella with others. + +CAESAR. +Let him appear that’s come from Antony. +Know you him? + +DOLABELLA. +Caesar, ’tis his schoolmaster— +An argument that he is plucked, when hither +He sends so poor a pinion of his wing, +Which had superfluous kings for messengers +Not many moons gone by. + + Enter Ambassador from Anthony. + +CAESAR. +Approach, and speak. + +AMBASSADOR. +Such as I am, I come from Antony. +I was of late as petty to his ends +As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf +To his grand sea. + +CAESAR. +Be’t so. Declare thine office. + +AMBASSADOR. +Lord of his fortunes he salutes thee, and +Requires to live in Egypt, which not granted, +He lessens his requests, and to thee sues +To let him breathe between the heavens and earth, +A private man in Athens. This for him. +Next, Cleopatra does confess thy greatness, +Submits her to thy might, and of thee craves +The circle of the Ptolemies for her heirs, +Now hazarded to thy grace. + +CAESAR. +For Antony, +I have no ears to his request. The queen +Of audience nor desire shall fail, so she +From Egypt drive her all-disgraced friend, +Or take his life there. This if she perform, +She shall not sue unheard. So to them both. + +AMBASSADOR. +Fortune pursue thee! + +CAESAR. +Bring him through the bands. + + [_Exit Ambassador, attended._] + +[_To Thidias_.] To try thy eloquence now ’tis time. Dispatch. +From Antony win Cleopatra. Promise, +And in our name, what she requires; add more, +From thine invention, offers. Women are not +In their best fortunes strong, but want will perjure +The ne’er-touch’d vestal. Try thy cunning, Thidias; +Make thine own edict for thy pains, which we +Will answer as a law. + +THIDIAS. +Caesar, I go. + +CAESAR. +Observe how Antony becomes his flaw, +And what thou think’st his very action speaks +In every power that moves. + +THIDIAS. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XIII. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +What shall we do, Enobarbus? + +ENOBARBUS. +Think, and die. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is Antony or we in fault for this? + +ENOBARBUS. +Antony only, that would make his will +Lord of his reason. What though you fled +From that great face of war, whose several ranges +Frighted each other? Why should he follow? +The itch of his affection should not then +Have nicked his captainship, at such a point, +When half to half the world opposed, he being +The mered question. ’Twas a shame no less +Than was his loss, to course your flying flags +And leave his navy gazing. + +CLEOPATRA. +Prithee, peace. + + Enter the Ambassador with Antony. + +ANTONY. +Is that his answer? + +AMBASSADOR. +Ay, my lord. + +ANTONY. +The Queen shall then have courtesy, so she +Will yield us up. + +AMBASSADOR. +He says so. + +ANTONY. +Let her know’t.— +To the boy Caesar send this grizzled head, +And he will fill thy wishes to the brim +With principalities. + +CLEOPATRA. +That head, my lord? + +ANTONY. +To him again. Tell him he wears the rose +Of youth upon him, from which the world should note +Something particular: his coin, ships, legions, +May be a coward’s; whose ministers would prevail +Under the service of a child as soon +As i’ th’ command of Caesar. I dare him therefore +To lay his gay comparisons apart, +And answer me declined, sword against sword, +Ourselves alone. I’ll write it. Follow me. + + [_Exeunt Antony and Ambassador._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Yes, like enough high-battled Caesar will +Unstate his happiness, and be staged to th’ show +Against a sworder! I see men’s judgments are +A parcel of their fortunes, and things outward +Do draw the inward quality after them +To suffer all alike. That he should dream, +Knowing all measures, the full Caesar will +Answer his emptiness! Caesar, thou hast subdued +His judgment too. + + Enter a Servant. + +SERVANT. +A messenger from Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +What, no more ceremony? See, my women, +Against the blown rose may they stop their nose +That kneeled unto the buds. Admit him, sir. + + [_Exit Servant._] + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside_.] Mine honesty and I begin to square. +The loyalty well held to fools does make +Our faith mere folly. Yet he that can endure +To follow with allegiance a fallen lord +Does conquer him that did his master conquer, +And earns a place i’ th’ story. + + Enter Thidias. + +CLEOPATRA. +Caesar’s will? + +THIDIAS. +Hear it apart. + +CLEOPATRA. +None but friends. Say boldly. + +THIDIAS. +So haply are they friends to Antony. + +ENOBARBUS. +He needs as many, sir, as Caesar has, +Or needs not us. If Caesar please, our master +Will leap to be his friend. For us, you know +Whose he is we are, and that is Caesar’s. + +THIDIAS. +So.— +Thus then, thou most renowned: Caesar entreats +Not to consider in what case thou stand’st +Further than he is Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +Go on; right royal. + +THIDIAS. +He knows that you embrace not Antony +As you did love, but as you feared him. + +CLEOPATRA. +O! + +THIDIAS. +The scars upon your honour, therefore, he +Does pity as constrained blemishes, +Not as deserved. + +CLEOPATRA. +He is a god and knows +What is most right. Mine honour was not yielded, +But conquered merely. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside_.] To be sure of that, +I will ask Antony. Sir, sir, thou art so leaky +That we must leave thee to thy sinking, for +Thy dearest quit thee. + + [_Exit Enobarbus._] + +THIDIAS. +Shall I say to Caesar +What you require of him? For he partly begs +To be desired to give. It much would please him +That of his fortunes you should make a staff +To lean upon. But it would warm his spirits +To hear from me you had left Antony, +And put yourself under his shroud, +The universal landlord. + +CLEOPATRA. +What’s your name? + +THIDIAS. +My name is Thidias. + +CLEOPATRA. +Most kind messenger, +Say to great Caesar this in deputation: +I kiss his conqu’ring hand. Tell him I am prompt +To lay my crown at’s feet, and there to kneel. +Tell him, from his all-obeying breath I hear +The doom of Egypt. + +THIDIAS. +’Tis your noblest course. +Wisdom and fortune combating together, +If that the former dare but what it can, +No chance may shake it. Give me grace to lay +My duty on your hand. + +CLEOPATRA. +Your Caesar’s father oft, +When he hath mused of taking kingdoms in, +Bestowed his lips on that unworthy place +As it rained kisses. + + Enter Antony and Enobarbus. + +ANTONY. +Favours, by Jove that thunders! +What art thou, fellow? + +THIDIAS. +One that but performs +The bidding of the fullest man and worthiest +To have command obeyed. + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside_.] You will be whipped. + +ANTONY. +Approach there.—Ah, you kite!—Now, gods and devils, +Authority melts from me. Of late when I cried “Ho!” +Like boys unto a muss, kings would start forth +And cry “Your will?” Have you no ears? I am +Antony yet. + + Enter Servants. + +Take hence this jack and whip him. + +ENOBARBUS. +’Tis better playing with a lion’s whelp +Than with an old one dying. + +ANTONY. +Moon and stars! +Whip him. Were’t twenty of the greatest tributaries +That do acknowledge Caesar, should I find them +So saucy with the hand of she here—what’s her name +Since she was Cleopatra? Whip him, fellows, +Till like a boy you see him cringe his face +And whine aloud for mercy. Take him hence. + +THIDIAS. +Mark Antony— + +ANTONY. +Tug him away. Being whipp’d, +Bring him again. This jack of Caesar’s shall +Bear us an errand to him. + + [_Exeunt Servants with Thidias._] + +You were half blasted ere I knew you. Ha! +Have I my pillow left unpressed in Rome, +Forborne the getting of a lawful race, +And by a gem of women, to be abused +By one that looks on feeders? + +CLEOPATRA. +Good my lord— + +ANTONY. +You have been a boggler ever. +But when we in our viciousness grow hard— +O misery on’t!—the wise gods seal our eyes, +In our own filth drop our clear judgments, make us +Adore our errors, laugh at’s while we strut +To our confusion. + +CLEOPATRA. +O, is’t come to this? + +ANTONY. +I found you as a morsel cold upon +Dead Caesar’s trencher; nay, you were a fragment +Of Gneius Pompey’s, besides what hotter hours, +Unregistered in vulgar fame, you have +Luxuriously pick’d out. For I am sure, +Though you can guess what temperance should be, +You know not what it is. + +CLEOPATRA. +Wherefore is this? + +ANTONY. +To let a fellow that will take rewards +And say “God quit you!” be familiar with +My playfellow, your hand, this kingly seal +And plighter of high hearts! O that I were +Upon the hill of Basan, to outroar +The horned herd! For I have savage cause, +And to proclaim it civilly were like +A haltered neck which does the hangman thank +For being yare about him. + + Enter a Servant with Thidias. + +Is he whipped? + +SERVANT. +Soundly, my lord. + +ANTONY. +Cried he? And begged he pardon? + +SERVANT. +He did ask favour. + +ANTONY. +If that thy father live, let him repent +Thou wast not made his daughter; and be thou sorry +To follow Caesar in his triumph, since +Thou hast been whipped for following him. Henceforth +The white hand of a lady fever thee; +Shake thou to look on’t. Get thee back to Caesar; +Tell him thy entertainment. Look thou say +He makes me angry with him; for he seems +Proud and disdainful, harping on what I am, +Not what he knew I was. He makes me angry, +And at this time most easy ’tis to do’t, +When my good stars that were my former guides +Have empty left their orbs and shot their fires +Into th’ abysm of hell. If he mislike +My speech and what is done, tell him he has +Hipparchus, my enfranched bondman, whom +He may at pleasure whip, or hang, or torture, +As he shall like, to quit me. Urge it thou. +Hence with thy stripes, be gone. + + [_Exit Thidias._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Have you done yet? + +ANTONY. +Alack, our terrene moon is now eclipsed, +And it portends alone the fall of Antony. + +CLEOPATRA. +I must stay his time. + +ANTONY. +To flatter Caesar, would you mingle eyes +With one that ties his points? + +CLEOPATRA. +Not know me yet? + +ANTONY. +Cold-hearted toward me? + +CLEOPATRA. +Ah, dear, if I be so, +From my cold heart let heaven engender hail +And poison it in the source, and the first stone +Drop in my neck; as it determines, so +Dissolve my life! The next Caesarion smite, +Till, by degrees the memory of my womb, +Together with my brave Egyptians all, +By the discandying of this pelleted storm, +Lie graveless, till the flies and gnats of Nile +Have buried them for prey! + +ANTONY. +I am satisfied. +Caesar sits down in Alexandria, where +I will oppose his fate. Our force by land +Hath nobly held; our severed navy too +Have knit again, and fleet, threat’ning most sea-like. +Where hast thou been, my heart? Dost thou hear, lady? +If from the field I shall return once more +To kiss these lips, I will appear in blood. +I and my sword will earn our chronicle. +There’s hope in’t yet. + +CLEOPATRA. +That’s my brave lord! + +ANTONY. +I will be treble-sinewed, hearted, breathed, +And fight maliciously. For when mine hours +Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives +Of me for jests. But now I’ll set my teeth +And send to darkness all that stop me. Come, +Let’s have one other gaudy night. Call to me +All my sad captains. Fill our bowls once more +Let’s mock the midnight bell. + +CLEOPATRA. +It is my birthday. +I had thought t’have held it poor, but since my lord +Is Antony again, I will be Cleopatra. + +ANTONY. +We will yet do well. + +CLEOPATRA. +Call all his noble captains to my lord. + +ANTONY. +Do so; we’ll speak to them; and tonight I’ll force +The wine peep through their scars. Come on, my queen, +There’s sap in’t yet. The next time I do fight +I’ll make Death love me, for I will contend +Even with his pestilent scythe. + + [_Exeunt all but Enobarbus._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Now he’ll outstare the lightning. To be furious +Is to be frighted out of fear, and in that mood +The dove will peck the estridge; and I see still +A diminution in our captain’s brain +Restores his heart. When valour preys on reason, +It eats the sword it fights with. I will seek +Some way to leave him. + + [_Exit._] + + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I. Caesar’s Camp at Alexandria. + + Enter Caesar, Agrippa, and Maecenas, with his army. +Caesar reading a letter. + +CAESAR. +He calls me boy, and chides as he had power +To beat me out of Egypt. My messenger +He hath whipped with rods; dares me to personal combat, +Caesar to Antony. Let the old ruffian know +I have many other ways to die; meantime +Laugh at his challenge. + +MAECENAS. +Caesar must think, +When one so great begins to rage, he’s hunted +Even to falling. Give him no breath, but now +Make boot of his distraction. Never anger +Made good guard for itself. + +CAESAR. +Let our best heads +Know that tomorrow the last of many battles +We mean to fight. Within our files there are, +Of those that served Mark Antony but late, +Enough to fetch him in. See it done, +And feast the army; we have store to do’t, +And they have earned the waste. Poor Antony! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Antony, Cleopatra, Enobarbus, Charmian, Iras, Alexas with + others. + +ANTONY. +He will not fight with me, Domitius? + +ENOBARBUS. +No. + +ANTONY. +Why should he not? + +ENOBARBUS. +He thinks, being twenty times of better fortune, +He is twenty men to one. + +ANTONY. +Tomorrow, soldier, +By sea and land I’ll fight. Or I will live, +Or bathe my dying honour in the blood +Shall make it live again. Woo’t thou fight well? + +ENOBARBUS. +I’ll strike, and cry “Take all.” + +ANTONY. +Well said. Come on. +Call forth my household servants. Let’s tonight +Be bounteous at our meal.— + + Enter Servants. + +Give me thy hand. +Thou has been rightly honest; so hast thou, +Thou, and thou, and thou. You have served me well, +And kings have been your fellows. + +CLEOPATRA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] What means this? + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Cleopatra_.] ’Tis one of those odd tricks which sorrow +shoots +Out of the mind. + +ANTONY. +And thou art honest too. +I wish I could be made so many men, +And all of you clapped up together in +An Antony, that I might do you service +So good as you have done. + +ALL THE SERVANTS. +The gods forbid! + +ANTONY. +Well, my good fellows, wait on me tonight. +Scant not my cups, and make as much of me +As when mine empire was your fellow too +And suffered my command. + +CLEOPATRA. +[_Aside to Enobarbus_.] What does he mean? + +ENOBARBUS. +[_Aside to Cleopatra_.] To make his followers weep. + +ANTONY. +Tend me tonight; +May be it is the period of your duty. +Haply you shall not see me more, or if, +A mangled shadow. Perchance tomorrow +You’ll serve another master. I look on you +As one that takes his leave. Mine honest friends, +I turn you not away, but, like a master +Married to your good service, stay till death. +Tend me tonight two hours, I ask no more, +And the gods yield you for’t! + +ENOBARBUS. +What mean you, sir, +To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep, +And I, an ass, am onion-eyed. For shame, +Transform us not to women. + +ANTONY. +Ho, ho, ho! +Now the witch take me if I meant it thus! +Grace grow where those drops fall! My hearty friends, +You take me in too dolorous a sense, +For I spake to you for your comfort, did desire you +To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts, +I hope well of tomorrow, and will lead you +Where rather I’ll expect victorious life +Than death and honour. Let’s to supper, come, +And drown consideration. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Alexandria. Before the Palace. + + Enter a Company of Soldiers. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Brother, good night. Tomorrow is the day. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +It will determine one way. Fare you well. +Heard you of nothing strange about the streets? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Nothing. What news? + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Belike ’tis but a rumour. Good night to you. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Well, sir, good night. + + Enter two other Soldiers. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Soldiers, have careful watch. + +THIRD SOLDIER. +And you. Good night, good night. + + [_They place themselves in every corner of the stage._] + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Here we. And if tomorrow +Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope +Our landmen will stand up. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +’Tis a brave army, and full of purpose. + + [_Music of the hautboys under the stage._] + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Peace, what noise? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +List, list! + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Hark! + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Music i’ th’ air. + +THIRD SOLDIER. +Under the earth. + +FOURTH SOLDIER. +It signs well, does it not? + +THIRD SOLDIER. +No. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Peace, I say! What should this mean? + +SECOND SOLDIER. +’Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony loved, +Now leaves him. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Walk. Let’s see if other watchmen +Do hear what we do. + + [_They advance to another post._] + +SECOND SOLDIER. +How now, masters! + +ALL. +How now! How now! Do you hear this? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Ay. Is’t not strange? + +THIRD SOLDIER. +Do you hear, masters? Do you hear? + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Follow the noise so far as we have quarter. +Let’s see how it will give off. + +ALL. +Content. ’Tis strange. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Antony and Cleopatra with others. + +ANTONY. +Eros! Mine armour, Eros! + +CLEOPATRA. +Sleep a little. + +ANTONY. +No, my chuck.—Eros! Come, mine armour, Eros! + + Enter Eros with armour. + +Come, good fellow, put thine iron on. +If fortune be not ours today, it is +Because we brave her. Come. + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, I’ll help too. +What’s this for? + +ANTONY. +Ah, let be, let be! Thou art +The armourer of my heart. False, false. This, this! + +CLEOPATRA. +Sooth, la, I’ll help. Thus it must be. + +ANTONY. +Well, well, +We shall thrive now. Seest thou, my good fellow? +Go put on thy defences. + +EROS. +Briefly, sir. + +CLEOPATRA. +Is not this buckled well? + +ANTONY. +Rarely, rarely. +He that unbuckles this, till we do please +To daff’t for our repose, shall hear a storm. +Thou fumblest, Eros, and my queen’s a squire +More tight at this than thou. Dispatch. O love, +That thou couldst see my wars today, and knew’st +The royal occupation, thou shouldst see +A workman in’t. + + Enter an Officer, armed. + +Good morrow to thee. Welcome. +Thou look’st like him that knows a warlike charge. +To business that we love we rise betime +And go to’t with delight. + +OFFICER. +A thousand, sir, +Early though’t be, have on their riveted trim +And at the port expect you. + + [_Shout. Trumpets flourish._] + + Enter other Captains and Soldiers. + +CAPTAIN. +The morn is fair. Good morrow, general. + +ALL. +Good morrow, general. + +ANTONY. +’Tis well blown, lads. +This morning, like the spirit of a youth +That means to be of note, begins betimes. +So, so. Come, give me that. This way. Well said. +Fare thee well, dame. +Whate’er becomes of me, +This is a soldier’s kiss. [_Kisses her._] Rebukeable +And worthy shameful check it were, to stand +On more mechanic compliment. I’ll leave thee +Now like a man of steel.—You that will fight, +Follow me close, I’ll bring you to’t. Adieu. + + [_Exeunt Antony, Eros, Captains and Soldiers._] + +CHARMIAN. +Please you, retire to your chamber. + +CLEOPATRA. +Lead me. +He goes forth gallantly. That he and Caesar might +Determine this great war in single fight! +Then Antony—but now—. Well, on. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Antony’s camp near Alexandria. + + Trumpets sound. Enter Antony and Eros, a Soldier meeting them. + +SOLDIER. +The gods make this a happy day to Antony! + +ANTONY. +Would thou and those thy scars had once prevailed +To make me fight at land! + +SOLDIER. +Hadst thou done so, +The kings that have revolted and the soldier +That has this morning left thee would have still +Followed thy heels. + +ANTONY. +Who’s gone this morning? + +SOLDIER. +Who? +One ever near thee. Call for Enobarbus, +He shall not hear thee, or from Caesar’s camp +Say “I am none of thine.” + +ANTONY. +What sayest thou? + +SOLDIER. +Sir, +He is with Caesar. + +EROS. +Sir, his chests and treasure +He has not with him. + +ANTONY. +Is he gone? + +SOLDIER. +Most certain. + +ANTONY. +Go, Eros, send his treasure after. Do it. +Detain no jot, I charge thee. Write to him— +I will subscribe—gentle adieus and greetings. +Say that I wish he never find more cause +To change a master. O, my fortunes have +Corrupted honest men! Dispatch.—Enobarbus! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Alexandria. Caesar’s camp. + + Flourish. Enter Agrippa, Caesar with Enobarbus and Dolabella. + +CAESAR. +Go forth, Agrippa, and begin the fight. +Our will is Antony be took alive; +Make it so known. + +AGRIPPA. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exit._] + +CAESAR. +The time of universal peace is near. +Prove this a prosp’rous day, the three-nooked world +Shall bear the olive freely. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Antony +Is come into the field. + +CAESAR. +Go charge Agrippa +Plant those that have revolted in the van +That Antony may seem to spend his fury +Upon himself. + + [_Exeunt Caesar and his Train._] + +ENOBARBUS. +Alexas did revolt and went to Jewry on +Affairs of Antony; there did dissuade +Great Herod to incline himself to Caesar +And leave his master Antony. For this pains +Caesar hath hanged him. Canidius and the rest +That fell away have entertainment but +No honourable trust. I have done ill, +Of which I do accuse myself so sorely +That I will joy no more. + + Enter a Soldier of Caesar’s. + +SOLDIER. +Enobarbus, Antony +Hath after thee sent all thy treasure, with +His bounty overplus. The messenger +Came on my guard, and at thy tent is now +Unloading of his mules. + +ENOBARBUS. +I give it you. + +SOLDIER. +Mock not, Enobarbus. +I tell you true. Best you safed the bringer +Out of the host. I must attend mine office, +Or would have done’t myself. Your emperor +Continues still a Jove. + + [_Exit._] + +ENOBARBUS. +I am alone the villain of the earth, +And feel I am so most. O Antony, +Thou mine of bounty, how wouldst thou have paid +My better service, when my turpitude +Thou dost so crown with gold! This blows my heart. +If swift thought break it not, a swifter mean +Shall outstrike thought, but thought will do’t, I feel. +I fight against thee! No, I will go seek +Some ditch wherein to die; the foul’st best fits +My latter part of life. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VII. Field of battle between the Camps. + + Alarum. Drums and Trumpets. Enter Agrippa and others. + +AGRIPPA. +Retire! We have engaged ourselves too far. +Caesar himself has work, and our oppression +Exceeds what we expected. + + [_Exeunt._] + + Alarums. Enter Antony and Scarus wounded. + +SCARUS. +O my brave emperor, this is fought indeed! +Had we done so at first, we had droven them home +With clouts about their heads. + +ANTONY. +Thou bleed’st apace. + +SCARUS. +I had a wound here that was like a T, +But now ’tis made an H. + + _Sounds retreat far off._ +ANTONY. +They do retire. + +SCARUS. +We’ll beat ’em into bench-holes. I have yet +Room for six scotches more. + + Enter Eros. + +EROS. +They are beaten, sir, and our advantage serves +For a fair victory. + +SCARUS. +Let us score their backs +And snatch ’em up as we take hares, behind. +’Tis sport to maul a runner. + +ANTONY. +I will reward thee +Once for thy sprightly comfort, and tenfold +For thy good valour. Come thee on. + +SCARUS. +I’ll halt after. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. Under the Walls of Alexandria. + + Alarum. Enter Antony again in a march; Scarus with others. + +ANTONY. +We have beat him to his camp. Run one before +And let the Queen know of our gests. +Tomorrow, +Before the sun shall see’s, we’ll spill the blood +That has today escaped. I thank you all, +For doughty-handed are you, and have fought +Not as you served the cause, but as’t had been +Each man’s like mine. You have shown all Hectors. +Enter the city, clip your wives, your friends, +Tell them your feats; whilst they with joyful tears +Wash the congealment from your wounds and kiss +The honoured gashes whole. + + Enter Cleopatra. + +[_To Scarus_.] Give me thy hand. +To this great fairy I’ll commend thy acts, +Make her thanks bless thee. O thou day o’ th’ world, +Chain mine armed neck. Leap thou, attire and all, +Through proof of harness to my heart, and there +Ride on the pants triumphing. + +CLEOPATRA. +Lord of lords! +O infinite virtue, com’st thou smiling from +The world’s great snare uncaught? + +ANTONY. +Mine nightingale, +We have beat them to their beds. What, girl! Though grey +Do something mingle with our younger brown, yet ha’ we +A brain that nourishes our nerves and can +Get goal for goal of youth. Behold this man. +Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand.— +Kiss it, my warrior. He hath fought today +As if a god, in hate of mankind, had +Destroyed in such a shape. + +CLEOPATRA. +I’ll give thee, friend, +An armour all of gold. It was a king’s. + +ANTONY. +He has deserved it, were it carbuncled +Like holy Phœbus’ car. Give me thy hand. +Through Alexandria make a jolly march; +Bear our hacked targets like the men that owe them. +Had our great palace the capacity +To camp this host, we all would sup together +And drink carouses to the next day’s fate, +Which promises royal peril.—Trumpeters, +With brazen din blast you the city’s ear; +Make mingle with our rattling tabourines, +That heaven and earth may strike their sounds together, +Applauding our approach. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IX. Caesar’s camp. + + Enter a Sentry and his company. Enobarbus follows. + +SENTRY. +If we be not relieved within this hour, +We must return to th’ court of guard. The night +Is shiny, and they say we shall embattle +By th’ second hour i’ th’ morn. + +FIRST WATCH. +This last day was a shrewd one to’s. + +ENOBARBUS. +O, bear me witness, night.— + +SECOND WATCH. +What man is this? + +FIRST WATCH. +Stand close and list him. + +ENOBARBUS. +Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon, +When men revolted shall upon record +Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did +Before thy face repent. + +SENTRY. +Enobarbus? + +SECOND WATCH. +Peace! Hark further. + +ENOBARBUS. +O sovereign mistress of true melancholy, +The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me, +That life, a very rebel to my will, +May hang no longer on me. Throw my heart +Against the flint and hardness of my fault, +Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder +And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony, +Nobler than my revolt is infamous, +Forgive me in thine own particular, +But let the world rank me in register +A master-leaver and a fugitive. +O Antony! O Antony! + + [_Dies._] + +FIRST WATCH. +Let’s speak to him. + +SENTRY. +Let’s hear him, for the things he speaks may concern Caesar. + +SECOND WATCH. +Let’s do so. But he sleeps. + +SENTRY. +Swoons rather, for so bad a prayer as his +Was never yet for sleep. + +FIRST WATCH. +Go we to him. + +SECOND WATCH. +Awake, sir, awake! Speak to us. + +FIRST WATCH. +Hear you, sir? + +SENTRY. +The hand of death hath raught him. + + [_Drums afar off._] + +Hark! The drums +Demurely wake the sleepers. Let us bear him +To th’ court of guard; he is of note. Our hour +Is fully out. + +SECOND WATCH. +Come on, then. He may recover yet. + + [_Exeunt with the body._] + +SCENE X. Ground between the two Camps. + + Enter Antony and Scarus with their army. + +ANTONY. +Their preparation is today by sea; +We please them not by land. + +SCARUS. +For both, my lord. + +ANTONY. +I would they’d fight i’ th’ fire or i’ th’ air; +We’d fight there too. But this it is: our foot +Upon the hills adjoining to the city +Shall stay with us—order for sea is given; +They have put forth the haven— +Where their appointment we may best discover +And look on their endeavour. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XI. Another part of the Ground. + + Enter Caesar and his army. + +CAESAR. +But being charged, we will be still by land, +Which, as I take’t, we shall, for his best force +Is forth to man his galleys. To the vales, +And hold our best advantage. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XII. Another part of the Ground. + + Alarum afar off, as at a sea fight. Enter Antony and Scarus. + +ANTONY. +Yet they are not joined. Where yond pine does stand +I shall discover all. I’ll bring thee word +Straight how ’tis like to go. + + [_Exit._] + +SCARUS. +Swallows have built +In Cleopatra’s sails their nests. The augurs +Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly, +And dare not speak their knowledge. Antony +Is valiant and dejected, and by starts +His fretted fortunes give him hope and fear +Of what he has and has not. + + Enter Antony. + +ANTONY. +All is lost! +This foul Egyptian hath betrayed me. +My fleet hath yielded to the foe, and yonder +They cast their caps up and carouse together +Like friends long lost. Triple-turned whore! ’Tis thou +Hast sold me to this novice, and my heart +Makes only wars on thee. Bid them all fly; +For when I am revenged upon my charm, +I have done all. Bid them all fly! Be gone! + + [_Exit Scarus._] + +O sun, thy uprise shall I see no more. +Fortune and Antony part here; even here +Do we shake hands. All come to this! The hearts +That spanieled me at heels, to whom I gave +Their wishes, do discandy, melt their sweets +On blossoming Caesar, and this pine is barked +That overtopped them all. Betray’d I am: +O this false soul of Egypt! This grave charm, +Whose eye becked forth my wars and called them home, +Whose bosom was my crownet, my chief end, +Like a right gypsy hath at fast and loose +Beguiled me to the very heart of loss. +What, Eros, Eros! + + Enter Cleopatra. + +Ah, thou spell! Avaunt! + +CLEOPATRA. +Why is my lord enraged against his love? + +ANTONY. +Vanish, or I shall give thee thy deserving +And blemish Caesar’s triumph. Let him take thee +And hoist thee up to the shouting plebeians! +Follow his chariot, like the greatest spot +Of all thy sex; most monster-like be shown +For poor’st diminutives, for dolts, and let +Patient Octavia plough thy visage up +With her prepared nails. + + [_Exit Cleopatra._] + +’Tis well thou’rt gone, +If it be well to live; but better ’twere +Thou fell’st into my fury, for one death +Might have prevented many.—Eros, ho!— +The shirt of Nessus is upon me. Teach me, +Alcides, thou mine ancestor, thy rage. +Let me lodge Lichas on the horns o’ th’ moon, +And with those hands that grasped the heaviest club +Subdue my worthiest self. The witch shall die. +To the young Roman boy she hath sold me, and I fall +Under this plot. She dies for’t.—Eros, ho! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE XIII. Alexandria. A Room in the Palace. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian, Iras and Mardian. + +CLEOPATRA. +Help me, my women! O, he is more mad +Than Telamon for his shield; the boar of Thessaly +Was never so embossed. + +CHARMIAN. +To th’ monument! +There lock yourself and send him word you are dead. +The soul and body rive not more in parting +Than greatness going off. + +CLEOPATRA. +To th’ monument! +Mardian, go tell him I have slain myself. +Say that the last I spoke was “Antony”, +And word it, prithee, piteously. Hence, Mardian, +And bring me how he takes my death.—To th’ monument! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE XIV. Alexandria. Another Room. + + Enter Antony and Eros. + +ANTONY. +Eros, thou yet behold’st me? + +EROS. +Ay, noble lord. + +ANTONY. +Sometime we see a cloud that’s dragonish, +A vapour sometime like a bear or lion, +A towered citadel, a pendant rock, +A forked mountain, or blue promontory +With trees upon’t, that nod unto the world +And mock our eyes with air. Thou hast seen these signs. +They are black vesper’s pageants. + +EROS. +Ay, my lord. + +ANTONY. +That which is now a horse, even with a thought +The rack dislimns and makes it indistinct +As water is in water. + +EROS. +It does, my lord. + +ANTONY. +My good knave Eros, now thy captain is +Even such a body. Here I am Antony, +Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. +I made these wars for Egypt, and the Queen, +Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine, +Which, whilst it was mine, had annexed unto’t +A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has +Packed cards with Caesar, and false-played my glory +Unto an enemy’s triumph. +Nay, weep not, gentle Eros. There is left us +Ourselves to end ourselves. + + Enter Mardian. + +O, thy vile lady! +She has robbed me of my sword. + +MARDIAN. +No, Antony, +My mistress loved thee and her fortunes mingled +With thine entirely. + +ANTONY. +Hence, saucy eunuch! Peace! +She hath betrayed me and shall die the death. + +MARDIAN. +Death of one person can be paid but once, +And that she has discharged. What thou wouldst do +Is done unto thy hand. The last she spake +Was “Antony! Most noble Antony!” +Then in the midst a tearing groan did break +The name of Antony; it was divided +Between her heart and lips. She rendered life, +Thy name so buried in her. + +ANTONY. +Dead, then? + +MARDIAN. +Dead. + +ANTONY. +Unarm, Eros. The long day’s task is done, +And we must sleep.—That thou depart’st hence safe +Does pay thy labour richly. Go. + + [_Exit Mardian._] + +Off, pluck off! +The sevenfold shield of Ajax cannot keep +The battery from my heart. O, cleave, my sides! +Heart, once be stronger than thy continent; +Crack thy frail case! Apace, Eros, apace! +No more a soldier. Bruised pieces, go; +You have been nobly borne. From me awhile. + + [_Exit Eros._] + +I will o’ertake thee, Cleopatra, and +Weep for my pardon. So it must be, for now +All length is torture. Since the torch is out, +Lie down, and stray no farther. Now all labour +Mars what it does; yea, very force entangles +Itself with strength. Seal then, and all is done. +Eros!—I come, my queen.—Eros!—Stay for me. +Where souls do couch on flowers, we’ll hand in hand, +And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze. +Dido and her Aeneas shall want troops, +And all the haunt be ours.—Come, Eros, Eros! + + Enter Eros. + +EROS. +What would my lord? + +ANTONY. +Since Cleopatra died, +I have lived in such dishonour that the gods +Detest my baseness. I, that with my sword +Quartered the world, and o’er green Neptune’s back +With ships made cities, condemn myself to lack +The courage of a woman; less noble mind +Than she which, by her death, our Caesar tells +“I am conqueror of myself.” Thou art sworn, Eros, +That when the exigent should come, which now +Is come indeed, when I should see behind me +Th’ inevitable prosecution of +Disgrace and horror, that on my command +Thou then wouldst kill me. Do’t. The time is come. +Thou strik’st not me; ’tis Caesar thou defeat’st. +Put colour in thy cheek. + +EROS. +The gods withhold me! +Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, +Though enemy, lost aim and could not? + +ANTONY. +Eros, +Wouldst thou be windowed in great Rome and see +Thy master thus with pleached arms, bending down +His corrigible neck, his face subdued +To penetrative shame, whilst the wheeled seat +Of fortunate Caesar, drawn before him, branded +His baseness that ensued? + +EROS. +I would not see’t. + +ANTONY. +Come, then, for with a wound I must be cured. +Draw that thy honest sword, which thou hast worn +Most useful for thy country. + +EROS. +O, sir, pardon me! + +ANTONY. +When I did make thee free, swor’st thou not then +To do this when I bade thee? Do it at once, +Or thy precedent services are all +But accidents unpurposed. Draw, and come. + +EROS. +Turn from me then that noble countenance +Wherein the worship of the whole world lies. + +ANTONY. +Lo thee! + + [_Turning from him._] + +EROS. +My sword is drawn. + +ANTONY. +Then let it do at once +The thing why thou hast drawn it. + +EROS. +My dear master, +My captain and my emperor, let me say, +Before I strike this bloody stroke, farewell. + +ANTONY. +’Tis said, man, and farewell. + +EROS. +Farewell, great chief. Shall I strike now? + +ANTONY. +Now, Eros. + +EROS. +Why, there then! [_kills himself_] +Thus do I escape the sorrow +Of Antony’s death. + + [_Dies._] + +ANTONY. +Thrice nobler than myself! +Thou teachest me, O valiant Eros, what +I should and thou couldst not. My queen and Eros +Have by their brave instruction got upon me +A nobleness in record. But I will be +A bridegroom in my death and run into’t +As to a lover’s bed. Come then, and, Eros, +Thy master dies thy scholar. To do thus + + [_Falling on his sword._] + +I learned of thee. How? Not dead? Not dead? +The guard, ho! O, dispatch me! + + Enter a company of the Guard, one of them Dercetus. + +FIRST GUARD. +What’s the noise? + +ANTONY. +I have done my work ill, friends. O, make an end +Of what I have begun. + +SECOND GUARD. +The star is fallen. + +FIRST GUARD. +And time is at his period. + +ALL. +Alas, and woe! + +ANTONY. +Let him that loves me strike me dead. + +FIRST GUARD. +Not I. + +SECOND GUARD. +Nor I. + +THIRD GUARD. +Nor anyone. + + [_Exeunt guard._] + +DERCETUS. +Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly. +This sword but shown to Caesar with this tidings, +Shall enter me with him. + + Enter Diomedes. + +DIOMEDES. +Where’s Antony? + +DERCETUS. +There, Diomed, there. + +DIOMEDES. +Lives he? Wilt thou not answer, man? + + [_Exit Dercetus._] + +ANTONY. +Art thou there, Diomed? Draw thy sword and give me +Sufficing strokes for death. + +DIOMEDES. +Most absolute lord, +My mistress Cleopatra sent me to thee. + +ANTONY. +When did she send thee? + +DIOMEDES. +Now, my lord. + +ANTONY. +Where is she? + +DIOMEDES. +Locked in her monument. She had a prophesying fear +Of what hath come to pass. For when she saw— +Which never shall be found—you did suspect +She had disposed with Caesar, and that your rage +Would not be purged, she sent you word she was dead; +But fearing since how it might work, hath sent +Me to proclaim the truth, and I am come, +I dread, too late. + +ANTONY. +Too late, good Diomed. Call my guard, I prithee. + +DIOMEDES. +What, ho! The emperor’s guard! The guard, what ho! +Come, your lord calls! + + Enter four or five of the Guard of Antony. + +ANTONY. +Bear me, good friends, where Cleopatra bides. +’Tis the last service that I shall command you. + +FIRST GUARD. +Woe, woe are we, sir, you may not live to wear +All your true followers out. + +ALL. +Most heavy day! + +ANTONY. +Nay, good my fellows, do not please sharp fate +To grace it with your sorrows. Bid that welcome +Which comes to punish us, and we punish it, +Seeming to bear it lightly. Take me up. +I have led you oft; carry me now, good friends, +And have my thanks for all. + + [_Exeunt, bearing Antony._] + +SCENE XV. Alexandria. A monument. + + Enter Cleopatra and her maids aloft, with Charmian and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +O Charmian, I will never go from hence. + +CHARMIAN. +Be comforted, dear madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +No, I will not. +All strange and terrible events are welcome, +But comforts we despise. Our size of sorrow, +Proportioned to our cause, must be as great +As that which makes it. + + Enter, below Diomedes. + +How now! Is he dead? + +DIOMEDES. +His death’s upon him, but not dead. +Look out o’ th’ other side your monument; +His guard have brought him thither. + + Enter, below Antony borne by the Guard. + +CLEOPATRA. +O sun, +Burn the great sphere thou mov’st in! Darkling stand +The varying shore o’ th’ world. O Antony, +Antony, Antony! Help, Charmian! Help, Iras, help! +Help, friends below! Let’s draw him hither. + +ANTONY. +Peace! +Not Caesar’s valour hath o’erthrown Antony, +But Antony’s hath triumphed on itself. + +CLEOPATRA. +So it should be, that none but Antony +Should conquer Antony, but woe ’tis so! + +ANTONY. +I am dying, Egypt, dying. Only +I here importune death awhile until +Of many thousand kisses the poor last +I lay upon thy lips. + +CLEOPATRA. +I dare not, dear +Dear my lord, pardon. I dare not, +Lest I be taken. Not th’ imperious show +Of the full-fortuned Caesar ever shall +Be brooched with me; if knife, drugs, serpents, have +Edge, sting, or operation, I am safe. +Your wife Octavia, with her modest eyes +And still conclusion, shall acquire no honour +Demuring upon me. But come, come, Antony— +Help me, my women—we must draw thee up. +Assist, good friends. + +ANTONY. +O, quick, or I am gone. + +CLEOPATRA. +Here’s sport indeed! How heavy weighs my lord! +Our strength is all gone into heaviness; +That makes the weight. Had I great Juno’s power, +The strong-winged Mercury should fetch thee up +And set thee by Jove’s side. Yet come a little; +Wishers were ever fools. O come, come come, + + [_They heave Antony aloft to Cleopatra._] + +And welcome, welcome! Die where thou hast lived; +Quicken with kissing. Had my lips that power, +Thus would I wear them out. + +ALL. +A heavy sight! + +ANTONY. +I am dying, Egypt, dying. +Give me some wine, and let me speak a little. + +CLEOPATRA. +No, let me speak, and let me rail so high +That the false huswife Fortune break her wheel, +Provoked by my offence. + +ANTONY. +One word, sweet queen: +Of Caesar seek your honour, with your safety. O! + +CLEOPATRA. +They do not go together. + +ANTONY. +Gentle, hear me. +None about Caesar trust but Proculeius. + +CLEOPATRA. +My resolution and my hands I’ll trust; +None about Caesar. + +ANTONY. +The miserable change now at my end +Lament nor sorrow at, but please your thoughts +In feeding them with those my former fortunes +Wherein I lived the greatest prince o’ th’ world, +The noblest; and do now not basely die, +Not cowardly put off my helmet to +My countryman; a Roman by a Roman +Valiantly vanquished. Now my spirit is going; +I can no more. + +CLEOPATRA. +Noblest of men, woo’t die? +Hast thou no care of me? Shall I abide +In this dull world, which in thy absence is +No better than a sty? O, see, my women, + + [_ Antony dies._] + +The crown o’ th’ earth doth melt.—My lord! +O, withered is the garland of the war, +The soldier’s pole is fallen; young boys and girls +Are level now with men. The odds is gone, +And there is nothing left remarkable +Beneath the visiting moon. + + [_Faints._] + +CHARMIAN. +O, quietness, lady! + +IRAS. +She is dead too, our sovereign. + +CHARMIAN. +Lady! + +IRAS. +Madam! + +CHARMIAN. +O madam, madam, madam! + +IRAS. +Royal Egypt, Empress! + +CHARMIAN. +Peace, peace, Iras! + +CLEOPATRA. +No more but e’en a woman, and commanded +By such poor passion as the maid that milks +And does the meanest chares. It were for me +To throw my sceptre at the injurious gods, +To tell them that this world did equal theirs +Till they had stolen our jewel. All’s but naught; +Patience is sottish, and impatience does +Become a dog that’s mad. Then is it sin +To rush into the secret house of death +Ere death dare come to us? How do you, women? +What, what! good cheer! Why, how now, Charmian? +My noble girls! Ah, women, women! Look, +Our lamp is spent, it’s out! Good sirs, take heart. +We’ll bury him; and then, what’s brave, what’s noble, +Let’s do it after the high Roman fashion +And make death proud to take us. Come, away. +This case of that huge spirit now is cold. +Ah, women, women! Come, we have no friend +But resolution and the briefest end. + + [_Exeunt, bearing off Antony’s body._] + + + + +ACT V + + +SCENE I. Caesar’s Camp before Alexandria. + + Enter Caesar, Agrippa, Dolabella, Maecenas, Gallus, Proculeius with + his council of war. + +CAESAR. +Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield. +Being so frustrate, tell him, he mocks +The pauses that he makes. + +DOLABELLA. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Dercetus with the sword of Antony. + +CAESAR. +Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar’st +Appear thus to us? + +DERCETUS. +I am called Dercetus. +Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy +Best to be served. Whilst he stood up and spoke, +He was my master, and I wore my life +To spend upon his haters. If thou please +To take me to thee, as I was to him +I’ll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not, +I yield thee up my life. + +CAESAR. +What is’t thou say’st? + +DERCETUS. +I say, O Caesar, Antony is dead. + +CAESAR. +The breaking of so great a thing should make +A greater crack. The round world +Should have shook lions into civil streets, +And citizens to their dens. The death of Antony +Is not a single doom; in the name lay +A moiety of the world. + +DERCETUS. +He is dead, Caesar, +Not by a public minister of justice, +Nor by a hired knife, but that self hand +Which writ his honour in the acts it did +Hath, with the courage which the heart did lend it, +Splitted the heart. This is his sword. +I robbed his wound of it. Behold it stained +With his most noble blood. + +CAESAR. +Look you sad, friends? +The gods rebuke me, but it is tidings +To wash the eyes of kings. + +AGRIPPA. +And strange it is +That nature must compel us to lament +Our most persisted deeds. + +MAECENAS. +His taints and honours +Waged equal with him. + +AGRIPPA. +A rarer spirit never +Did steer humanity, but you gods will give us +Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touched. + +MAECENAS. +When such a spacious mirror’s set before him, +He needs must see himself. + +CAESAR. +O Antony, +I have followed thee to this, but we do lance +Diseases in our bodies. I must perforce +Have shown to thee such a declining day +Or look on thine. We could not stall together +In the whole world. But yet let me lament +With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, +That thou, my brother, my competitor +In top of all design, my mate in empire, +Friend and companion in the front of war, +The arm of mine own body, and the heart +Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars, +Unreconciliable, should divide +Our equalness to this. Hear me, good friends— + + Enter an Egyptian. + +But I will tell you at some meeter season. +The business of this man looks out of him; +We’ll hear him what he says. Whence are you? + +EGYPTIAN. +A poor Egyptian yet. The queen, my mistress, +Confined in all she has, her monument, +Of thy intents desires instruction, +That she preparedly may frame herself +To the way she’s forced to. + +CAESAR. +Bid her have good heart. +She soon shall know of us, by some of ours, +How honourable and how kindly we +Determine for her. For Caesar cannot lean +To be ungentle. + +EGYPTIAN. +So the gods preserve thee! + + [_Exit._] + +CAESAR. +Come hither, Proculeius. Go and say +We purpose her no shame. Give her what comforts +The quality of her passion shall require, +Lest, in her greatness, by some mortal stroke +She do defeat us, for her life in Rome +Would be eternal in our triumph. Go, +And with your speediest bring us what she says +And how you find of her. + +PROCULEIUS. +Caesar, I shall. + + [_Exit Proculeius._] + +CAESAR. +Gallus, go you along. + + [_Exit Gallus._] + +Where’s Dolabella, to second Proculeius? + +ALL. +Dolabella! + +CAESAR. +Let him alone, for I remember now +How he’s employed. He shall in time be ready. +Go with me to my tent, where you shall see +How hardly I was drawn into this war, +How calm and gentle I proceeded still +In all my writings. Go with me and see +What I can show in this. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Alexandria. A Room in the Monument. + + Enter Cleopatra, Charmian and Iras. + +CLEOPATRA. +My desolation does begin to make +A better life. ’Tis paltry to be Caesar; +Not being Fortune, he’s but Fortune’s knave, +A minister of her will. And it is great +To do that thing that ends all other deeds, +Which shackles accidents and bolts up change, +Which sleeps and never palates more the dung, +The beggar’s nurse and Caesar’s. + + Enter Proculeius. + +PROCULEIUS. +Caesar sends greetings to the queen of Egypt, +And bids thee study on what fair demands +Thou mean’st to have him grant thee. + +CLEOPATRA. +What’s thy name? + +PROCULEIUS. +My name is Proculeius. + +CLEOPATRA. +Antony +Did tell me of you, bade me trust you, but +I do not greatly care to be deceived +That have no use for trusting. If your master +Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him +That majesty, to keep decorum, must +No less beg than a kingdom. If he please +To give me conquered Egypt for my son, +He gives me so much of mine own as I +Will kneel to him with thanks. + +PROCULEIUS. +Be of good cheer. +You are fallen into a princely hand; fear nothing. +Make your full reference freely to my lord, +Who is so full of grace that it flows over +On all that need. Let me report to him +Your sweet dependency, and you shall find +A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness +Where he for grace is kneeled to. + +CLEOPATRA. +Pray you tell him +I am his fortune’s vassal and I send him +The greatness he has got. I hourly learn +A doctrine of obedience, and would gladly +Look him i’ th’ face. + +PROCULEIUS. +This I’ll report, dear lady. +Have comfort, for I know your plight is pitied +Of him that caused it. + + Enter Gallus and Roman Soldiers. + +You see how easily she may be surprised. +Guard her till Caesar come. + +IRAS. +Royal queen! + +CHARMIAN. +O Cleopatra, thou art taken, queen! + +CLEOPATRA. +Quick, quick, good hands. + + [_Drawing a dagger._] + +PROCULEIUS. +Hold, worthy lady, hold! + + [_Seizes and disarms her._] + +Do not yourself such wrong, who are in this +Relieved, but not betrayed. + +CLEOPATRA. +What, of death too, +That rids our dogs of languish? + +PROCULEIUS. +Cleopatra, +Do not abuse my master’s bounty by +Th’ undoing of yourself. Let the world see +His nobleness well acted, which your death +Will never let come forth. + +CLEOPATRA. +Where art thou, Death? +Come hither, come! Come, come, and take a queen +Worth many babes and beggars! + +PROCULEIUS. +O, temperance, lady! + +CLEOPATRA. +Sir, I will eat no meat; I’ll not drink, sir; +If idle talk will once be necessary, +I’ll not sleep neither. This mortal house I’ll ruin, +Do Caesar what he can. Know, sir, that I +Will not wait pinioned at your master’s court, +Nor once be chastised with the sober eye +Of dull Octavia. Shall they hoist me up +And show me to the shouting varletry +Of censuring Rome? Rather a ditch in Egypt +Be gentle grave unto me! Rather on Nilus’ mud +Lay me stark-naked, and let the water-flies +Blow me into abhorring! Rather make +My country’s high pyramides my gibbet +And hang me up in chains! + +PROCULEIUS. +You do extend +These thoughts of horror further than you shall +Find cause in Caesar. + + Enter Dolabella. + +DOLABELLA. +Proculeius, +What thou hast done thy master Caesar knows, +And he hath sent for thee. For the queen, +I’ll take her to my guard. + +PROCULEIUS. +So, Dolabella, +It shall content me best. Be gentle to her. +[_To Cleopatra._] To Caesar I will speak what you shall please, +If you’ll employ me to him. + +CLEOPATRA. +Say I would die. + + [_Exeunt Proculeius and Soldiers._] + +DOLABELLA. +Most noble empress, you have heard of me? + +CLEOPATRA. +I cannot tell. + +DOLABELLA. +Assuredly you know me. + +CLEOPATRA. +No matter, sir, what I have heard or known. +You laugh when boys or women tell their dreams; +Is’t not your trick? + +DOLABELLA. +I understand not, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +I dreamt there was an Emperor Antony. +O, such another sleep, that I might see +But such another man! + +DOLABELLA. +If it might please you— + +CLEOPATRA. +His face was as the heavens, and therein stuck +A sun and moon, which kept their course, and lighted +The little O, the earth. + +DOLABELLA. +Most sovereign creature— + +CLEOPATRA. +His legs bestrid the ocean; his reared arm +Crested the world; his voice was propertied +As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; +But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, +He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, +There was no winter in’t; an autumn ’twas +That grew the more by reaping. His delights +Were dolphin-like; they showed his back above +The element they lived in. In his livery +Walked crowns and crownets; realms and islands were +As plates dropped from his pocket. + +DOLABELLA. +Cleopatra— + +CLEOPATRA. +Think you there was or might be such a man +As this I dreamt of? + +DOLABELLA. +Gentle madam, no. + +CLEOPATRA. +You lie up to the hearing of the gods! +But if there be nor ever were one such, +It’s past the size of dreaming. Nature wants stuff +To vie strange forms with fancy; yet t’ imagine +An Antony were nature’s piece ’gainst fancy, +Condemning shadows quite. + +DOLABELLA. +Hear me, good madam. +Your loss is, as yourself, great; and you bear it +As answering to the weight. Would I might never +O’ertake pursued success, but I do feel, +By the rebound of yours, a grief that smites +My very heart at root. + +CLEOPATRA. +I thank you, sir. +Know you what Caesar means to do with me? + +DOLABELLA. +I am loath to tell you what I would you knew. + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, pray you, sir. + +DOLABELLA. +Though he be honourable— + +CLEOPATRA. +He’ll lead me, then, in triumph. + +DOLABELLA. +Madam, he will. I know it. + + Flourish. Enter Caesar, Proculeius, Gallus, Maecenas and others of his + train. + +ALL. +Make way there! Caesar! + +CAESAR. +Which is the Queen of Egypt? + +DOLABELLA. +It is the Emperor, madam. + + [_Cleopatra kneels._] + +CAESAR. +Arise, you shall not kneel. +I pray you, rise. Rise, Egypt. + +CLEOPATRA. +Sir, the gods +Will have it thus. My master and my lord +I must obey. + +CAESAR. +Take to you no hard thoughts. +The record of what injuries you did us, +Though written in our flesh, we shall remember +As things but done by chance. + +CLEOPATRA. +Sole sir o’ th’ world, +I cannot project mine own cause so well +To make it clear, but do confess I have +Been laden with like frailties which before +Have often shamed our sex. + +CAESAR. +Cleopatra, know +We will extenuate rather than enforce. +If you apply yourself to our intents, +Which towards you are most gentle, you shall find +A benefit in this change; but if you seek +To lay on me a cruelty by taking +Antony’s course, you shall bereave yourself +Of my good purposes, and put your children +To that destruction which I’ll guard them from +If thereon you rely. I’ll take my leave. + +CLEOPATRA. +And may, through all the world. ’Tis yours, and we, +Your scutcheons and your signs of conquest, shall +Hang in what place you please. Here, my good lord. + +CAESAR. +You shall advise me in all for Cleopatra. + +CLEOPATRA. +This is the brief of money, plate, and jewels +I am possessed of. ’Tis exactly valued, +Not petty things admitted. Where’s Seleucus? + + Enter Seleucus. + +SELEUCUS. +Here, madam. + +CLEOPATRA. +This is my treasurer. Let him speak, my lord, +Upon his peril, that I have reserved +To myself nothing. Speak the truth, Seleucus. + +SELEUCUS. +Madam, I had rather seal my lips +Than to my peril speak that which is not. + +CLEOPATRA. +What have I kept back? + +SELEUCUS. +Enough to purchase what you have made known. + +CAESAR. +Nay, blush not, Cleopatra. I approve +Your wisdom in the deed. + +CLEOPATRA. +See, Caesar! O, behold, +How pomp is followed! Mine will now be yours +And should we shift estates, yours would be mine. +The ingratitude of this Seleucus does +Even make me wild. O slave, of no more trust +Than love that’s hired! What, goest thou back? Thou shalt +Go back, I warrant thee! But I’ll catch thine eyes +Though they had wings. Slave, soulless villain, dog! +O rarely base! + +CAESAR. +Good queen, let us entreat you. + +CLEOPATRA. +O Caesar, what a wounding shame is this, +That thou vouchsafing here to visit me, +Doing the honour of thy lordliness +To one so meek, that mine own servant should +Parcel the sum of my disgraces by +Addition of his envy! Say, good Caesar, +That I some lady trifles have reserved, +Immoment toys, things of such dignity +As we greet modern friends withal; and say +Some nobler token I have kept apart +For Livia and Octavia, to induce +Their mediation, must I be unfolded +With one that I have bred? The gods! It smites me +Beneath the fall I have. +[_To Seleucus_.] Prithee go hence, +Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits +Through th’ ashes of my chance. Wert thou a man, +Thou wouldst have mercy on me. + +CAESAR. +Forbear, Seleucus. + + [_Exit Seleucus._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Be it known that we, the greatest, are misthought +For things that others do; and when we fall, +We answer others’ merits in our name, +Are therefore to be pitied. + +CAESAR. +Cleopatra, +Not what you have reserved nor what acknowledged +Put we i’ th’ roll of conquest. Still be’t yours; +Bestow it at your pleasure, and believe +Caesar’s no merchant to make prize with you +Of things that merchants sold. Therefore be cheered; +Make not your thoughts your prisons. No, dear queen; +For we intend so to dispose you as +Yourself shall give us counsel. Feed and sleep. +Our care and pity is so much upon you +That we remain your friend; and so, adieu. + +CLEOPATRA. +My master and my lord! + +CAESAR. +Not so. Adieu. + + [_Flourish. Exeunt Caesar and his train._] + +CLEOPATRA. +He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not +Be noble to myself. But hark thee, Charmian! + + [_Whispers to Charmian._] + +IRAS. +Finish, good lady. The bright day is done, +And we are for the dark. + +CLEOPATRA. +Hie thee again. +I have spoke already, and it is provided. +Go put it to the haste. + +CHARMIAN. +Madam, I will. + + Enter Dolabella. + +DOLABELLA. +Where’s the Queen? + +CHARMIAN. +Behold, sir. + + [_Exit._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Dolabella! + +DOLABELLA. +Madam, as thereto sworn by your command, +Which my love makes religion to obey, +I tell you this: Caesar through Syria +Intends his journey, and within three days +You with your children will he send before. +Make your best use of this. I have performed +Your pleasure and my promise. + +CLEOPATRA. +Dolabella, +I shall remain your debtor. + +DOLABELLA. +I your servant. +Adieu, good queen. I must attend on Caesar. + +CLEOPATRA. +Farewell, and thanks. + + [_Exit Dolabella._] + +Now, Iras, what think’st thou? +Thou an Egyptian puppet shall be shown +In Rome as well as I. Mechanic slaves +With greasy aprons, rules, and hammers shall +Uplift us to the view. In their thick breaths, +Rank of gross diet, shall we be enclouded, +And forced to drink their vapour. + +IRAS. +The gods forbid! + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, ’tis most certain, Iras. Saucy lictors +Will catch at us like strumpets, and scald rhymers +Ballad us out o’ tune. The quick comedians +Extemporally will stage us and present +Our Alexandrian revels; Antony +Shall be brought drunken forth, and I shall see +Some squeaking Cleopatra boy my greatness +I’ th’ posture of a whore. + +IRAS. +O the good gods! + +CLEOPATRA. +Nay, that’s certain. + +IRAS. +I’ll never see’t, for I am sure mine nails +Are stronger than mine eyes. + +CLEOPATRA. +Why, that’s the way +To fool their preparation and to conquer +Their most absurd intents. + + Enter Charmian. + +Now, Charmian! +Show me, my women, like a queen. Go fetch +My best attires. I am again for Cydnus +To meet Mark Antony. Sirrah, Iras, go. +Now, noble Charmian, we’ll dispatch indeed, +And when thou hast done this chare, I’ll give thee leave +To play till doomsday. Bring our crown and all. + + [_Exit Iras. A noise within._] + +Wherefore’s this noise? + + Enter a Guardsman. + +GUARDSMAN. +Here is a rural fellow +That will not be denied your highness’ presence. +He brings you figs. + +CLEOPATRA. +Let him come in. + + [_Exit Guardsman._] + +What poor an instrument +May do a noble deed! He brings me liberty. +My resolution’s placed, and I have nothing +Of woman in me. Now from head to foot +I am marble-constant. Now the fleeting moon +No planet is of mine. + + Enter Guardsman and Clown with a basket. + +GUARDSMAN. +This is the man. + +CLEOPATRA. +Avoid, and leave him. + + [_Exit Guardsman._] + +Hast thou the pretty worm of Nilus there +That kills and pains not? + +CLOWN. +Truly, I have him, but I would not be the party that should desire you +to touch him, for his biting is immortal. Those that do die of it do +seldom or never recover. + +CLEOPATRA. +Remember’st thou any that have died on’t? + +CLOWN. +Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than +yesterday—a very honest woman, but something given to lie; as a woman +should not do but in the way of honesty—how she died of the biting of +it, what pain she felt. Truly she makes a very good report o’ th’ worm; +but he that will believe all that they say shall never be saved by half +that they do. But this is most falliable, the worm’s an odd worm. + +CLEOPATRA. +Get thee hence. Farewell. + +CLOWN. +I wish you all joy of the worm. + + [_Sets down the basket._] + +CLEOPATRA. +Farewell. + +CLOWN. +You must think this, look you, that the worm will do his kind. + +CLEOPATRA. +Ay, ay, farewell. + +CLOWN. +Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping of wise +people; for indeed there is no goodness in the worm. + +CLEOPATRA. +Take thou no care; it shall be heeded. + +CLOWN. +Very good. Give it nothing, I pray you, for it is not worth the +feeding. + +CLEOPATRA. +Will it eat me? + +CLOWN. +You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil himself will not +eat a woman. I know that a woman is a dish for the gods if the devil +dress her not. But truly, these same whoreson devils do the gods great +harm in their women, for in every ten that they make, the devils mar +five. + +CLEOPATRA. +Well, get thee gone. Farewell. + +CLOWN. +Yes, forsooth. I wish you joy o’ th’ worm. + + [_Exit._] + + Enter Iras with a robe, crown, &c. + +CLEOPATRA. +Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have +Immortal longings in me. Now no more +The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist this lip. +Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear +Antony call. I see him rouse himself +To praise my noble act. I hear him mock +The luck of Caesar, which the gods give men +To excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come! +Now to that name my courage prove my title! +I am fire and air; my other elements +I give to baser life.—So, have you done? +Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. +Farewell, kind Charmian. Iras, long farewell. + + [_Kisses them. Iras falls and dies._] + +Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? +If thou and nature can so gently part, +The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch, +Which hurts and is desired. Dost thou lie still? +If thus thou vanishest, thou tell’st the world +It is not worth leave-taking. + +CHARMIAN. +Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say +The gods themselves do weep! + +CLEOPATRA. +This proves me base. +If she first meet the curled Antony, +He’ll make demand of her, and spend that kiss +Which is my heaven to have.—Come, thou mortal wretch, + + [_To an asp, which she applies to her breast._] + +With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate +Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool, +Be angry and dispatch. O couldst thou speak, +That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass +Unpolicied! + +CHARMIAN. +O eastern star! + +CLEOPATRA. +Peace, peace! +Dost thou not see my baby at my breast +That sucks the nurse asleep? + +CHARMIAN. +O, break! O, break! + +CLEOPATRA. +As sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle— +O Antony!—Nay, I will take thee too. + + [_Applying another asp to her arm._] + +What should I stay— + + [_Dies._] + +CHARMIAN. +In this vile world? So, fare thee well. +Now boast thee, Death, in thy possession lies +A lass unparalleled. Downy windows, close, +And golden Phœbus never be beheld +Of eyes again so royal! Your crown’s awry; +I’ll mend it and then play. + + Enter the Guard rustling in. + +FIRST GUARD. +Where’s the queen? + +CHARMIAN. +Speak softly. Wake her not. + +FIRST GUARD. +Caesar hath sent— + +CHARMIAN. +Too slow a messenger. + + [_Applies an asp._] + +O, come apace, dispatch! I partly feel thee. + +FIRST GUARD. +Approach, ho! All’s not well. Caesar’s beguiled. + +SECOND GUARD. +There’s Dolabella sent from Caesar. Call him. + +FIRST GUARD. +What work is here, Charmian? Is this well done? + +CHARMIAN. +It is well done, and fitting for a princess +Descended of so many royal kings. +Ah, soldier! + + [_Charmian dies._] + + Enter Dolabella. + +DOLABELLA. +How goes it here? + +SECOND GUARD. +All dead. + +DOLABELLA. +Caesar, thy thoughts +Touch their effects in this. Thyself art coming +To see performed the dreaded act which thou +So sought’st to hinder. + + Enter Caesar and all his train, marching. + +ALL. +A way there, a way for Caesar! + +DOLABELLA. +O sir, you are too sure an augurer: +That you did fear is done. + +CAESAR. +Bravest at the last, +She levelled at our purposes and, being royal, +Took her own way. The manner of their deaths? +I do not see them bleed. + +DOLABELLA. +Who was last with them? + +FIRST GUARD. +A simple countryman that brought her figs. +This was his basket. + +CAESAR. +Poisoned then. + +FIRST GUARD. +O Caesar, +This Charmian lived but now; she stood and spake. +I found her trimming up the diadem +On her dead mistress; tremblingly she stood, +And on the sudden dropped. + +CAESAR. +O noble weakness! +If they had swallowed poison ’twould appear +By external swelling; but she looks like sleep, +As she would catch another Antony +In her strong toil of grace. + +DOLABELLA. +Here on her breast +There is a vent of blood, and something blown. +The like is on her arm. + +FIRST GUARD. +This is an aspic’s trail, and these fig leaves +Have slime upon them, such as th’ aspic leaves +Upon the caves of Nile. + +CAESAR. +Most probable +That so she died, for her physician tells me +She hath pursued conclusions infinite +Of easy ways to die. Take up her bed, +And bear her women from the monument. +She shall be buried by her Antony. +No grave upon the earth shall clip in it +A pair so famous. High events as these +Strike those that make them; and their story is +No less in pity than his glory which +Brought them to be lamented. Our army shall +In solemn show attend this funeral, +And then to Rome. Come, Dolabella, see +High order in this great solemnity. + + [_Exeunt omnes._] + + + + +AS YOU LIKE IT + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. An Orchard near Oliver’s house + Scene II. A Lawn before the Duke’s Palace + Scene III. A Room in the Palace + + ACT II + Scene I. The Forest of Arden + Scene II. A Room in the Palace + Scene III. Before Oliver’s House + Scene IV. The Forest of Arden + Scene V. Another part of the Forest + Scene VI. Another part of the Forest + Scene VII. Another part of the Forest + + ACT III + Scene I. A Room in the Palace + Scene II. The Forest of Arden + Scene III. Another part of the Forest + Scene IV. Another part of the Forest. Before a Cottage + Scene V. Another part of the Forest + + ACT IV + Scene I. The Forest of Arden + Scene II. Another part of the Forest + Scene III. Another part of the Forest + + ACT V + Scene I. The Forest of Arden + Scene II. Another part of the Forest + Scene III. Another part of the Forest + Scene IV. Another part of the Forest + Epilogue + + +Dramatis Personæ + +ORLANDO, youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys +OLIVER, eldest son of Sir Rowland de Boys +JAQUES DE BOYS, second son of Sir Rowland de Boys +ADAM, Servant to Oliver +DENNIS, Servant to Oliver + +ROSALIND, Daughter of Duke Senior +CELIA, Daughter of Duke Frederick +TOUCHSTONE, a Clown + +DUKE SENIOR (Ferdinand), living in exile + +JAQUES, Lord attending on the Duke Senior +AMIENS, Lord attending on the Duke Senior + +DUKE FREDERICK, Brother to the Duke, and Usurper of his Dominions +CHARLES, his Wrestler +LE BEAU, a Courtier attending upon Frederick + +CORIN, Shepherd +SILVIUS, Shepherd +PHOEBE, a Shepherdess +AUDREY, a Country Wench +WILLIAM, a Country Fellow, in love with Audrey +SIR OLIVER MARTEXT, a Vicar + +A person representing HYMEN + +Lords belonging to the two Dukes; Pages, Foresters, and other +Attendants. + +The scene lies first near Oliver’s house; afterwards partly in the +Usurper’s court and partly in the Forest of Arden. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. An Orchard near Oliver’s house + + +Enter Orlando and Adam. + +ORLANDO. +As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion bequeathed me by will but +poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou sayst, charged my brother, on his +blessing, to breed me well; and there begins my sadness. My brother +Jaques he keeps at school, and report speaks goldenly of his profit. +For my part, he keeps me rustically at home, or, to speak more +properly, stays me here at home unkept; for call you that keeping, for +a gentleman of my birth, that differs not from the stalling of an ox? +His horses are bred better, for, besides that they are fair with their +feeding, they are taught their manage and to that end riders dearly +hired; but I, his brother, gain nothing under him but growth, for the +which his animals on his dunghills are as much bound to him as I. +Besides this nothing that he so plentifully gives me, the something +that nature gave me his countenance seems to take from me. He lets me +feed with his hinds, bars me the place of a brother, and as much as in +him lies, mines my gentility with my education. This is it, Adam, that +grieves me, and the spirit of my father, which I think is within me, +begins to mutiny against this servitude. I will no longer endure it, +though yet I know no wise remedy how to avoid it. + +Enter Oliver. + +ADAM. +Yonder comes my master, your brother. + +ORLANDO. +Go apart, Adam, and thou shalt hear how he will shake me up. + +[_Adam retires._] + +OLIVER. +Now, sir, what make you here? + +ORLANDO. +Nothing. I am not taught to make anything. + +OLIVER. +What mar you then, sir? + +ORLANDO. +Marry, sir, I am helping you to mar that which God made, a poor +unworthy brother of yours, with idleness. + +OLIVER. +Marry, sir, be better employed, and be naught awhile. + +ORLANDO. +Shall I keep your hogs, and eat husks with them? What prodigal portion +have I spent that I should come to such penury? + +OLIVER. +Know you where you are, sir? + +ORLANDO. +O, sir, very well: here in your orchard. + +OLIVER. +Know you before whom, sir? + +ORLANDO. +Ay, better than him I am before knows me. I know you are my eldest +brother, and in the gentle condition of blood you should so know me. +The courtesy of nations allows you my better in that you are the +first-born, but the same tradition takes not away my blood, were there +twenty brothers betwixt us. I have as much of my father in me as you, +albeit I confess your coming before me is nearer to his reverence. + +OLIVER. +What, boy! + +ORLANDO. +Come, come, elder brother, you are too young in this. + +OLIVER. +Wilt thou lay hands on me, villain? + +ORLANDO. +I am no villain. I am the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys; he was +my father, and he is thrice a villain that says such a father begot +villains. Wert thou not my brother, I would not take this hand from thy +throat till this other had pulled out thy tongue for saying so. Thou +has railed on thyself. + +ADAM. +[_Coming forward_.] Sweet masters, be patient. For your father’s +remembrance, be at accord. + +OLIVER. +Let me go, I say. + +ORLANDO. +I will not till I please. You shall hear me. My father charged you in +his will to give me good education. You have trained me like a peasant, +obscuring and hiding from me all gentleman-like qualities. The spirit +of my father grows strong in me, and I will no longer endure it. +Therefore allow me such exercises as may become a gentleman, or give me +the poor allottery my father left me by testament; with that I will go +buy my fortunes. + +OLIVER. +And what wilt thou do? Beg when that is spent? Well, sir, get you in. I +will not long be troubled with you. You shall have some part of your +will. I pray you leave me. + +ORLANDO. +I no further offend you than becomes me for my good. + +OLIVER. +Get you with him, you old dog. + +ADAM. +Is “old dog” my reward? Most true, I have lost my teeth in your +service. God be with my old master. He would not have spoke such a +word. + +[_Exeunt Orlando and Adam._] + +OLIVER. +Is it even so? Begin you to grow upon me? I will physic your rankness, +and yet give no thousand crowns neither. Holla, Dennis! + +Enter Dennis. + +DENNIS +Calls your worship? + +OLIVER. +Was not Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, here to speak with me? + +DENNIS +So please you, he is here at the door and importunes access to you. + +OLIVER. +Call him in. + +[_Exit Dennis._] + +’Twill be a good way, and tomorrow the wrestling is. + +Enter Charles. + +CHARLES. +Good morrow to your worship. + +OLIVER. +Good Monsieur Charles. What’s the new news at the new court? + +CHARLES. +There’s no news at the court, sir, but the old news. That is, the old +Duke is banished by his younger brother the new Duke, and three or four +loving lords have put themselves into voluntary exile with him, whose +lands and revenues enrich the new Duke; therefore he gives them good +leave to wander. + +OLIVER. +Can you tell if Rosalind, the Duke’s daughter, be banished with her +father? + +CHARLES. +O, no; for the Duke’s daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever +from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed her +exile or have died to stay behind her. She is at the court and no less +beloved of her uncle than his own daughter, and never two ladies loved +as they do. + +OLIVER. +Where will the old Duke live? + +CHARLES. +They say he is already in the Forest of Arden, and a many merry men +with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England. They +say many young gentlemen flock to him every day and fleet the time +carelessly, as they did in the golden world. + +OLIVER. +What, you wrestle tomorrow before the new Duke? + +CHARLES. +Marry, do I, sir, and I came to acquaint you with a matter. I am given, +sir, secretly to understand that your younger brother Orlando hath a +disposition to come in disguised against me to try a fall. Tomorrow, +sir, I wrestle for my credit, and he that escapes me without some +broken limb shall acquit him well. Your brother is but young and +tender, and for your love I would be loath to foil him, as I must for +my own honour if he come in. Therefore, out of my love to you, I came +hither to acquaint you withal, that either you might stay him from his +intendment, or brook such disgrace well as he shall run into, in that +it is a thing of his own search and altogether against my will. + +OLIVER. +Charles, I thank thee for thy love to me, which thou shalt find I will +most kindly requite. I had myself notice of my brother’s purpose +herein, and have by underhand means laboured to dissuade him from it; +but he is resolute. I’ll tell thee, Charles, it is the stubbornest +young fellow of France, full of ambition, an envious emulator of every +man’s good parts, a secret and villainous contriver against me his +natural brother. Therefore use thy discretion. I had as lief thou didst +break his neck as his finger. And thou wert best look to’t; for if thou +dost him any slight disgrace, or if he do not mightily grace himself on +thee, he will practise against thee by poison, entrap thee by some +treacherous device, and never leave thee till he hath ta’en thy life by +some indirect means or other. For I assure thee (and almost with tears +I speak it) there is not one so young and so villainous this day +living. I speak but brotherly of him, but should I anatomize him to +thee as he is, I must blush and weep, and thou must look pale and +wonder. + +CHARLES. +I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come tomorrow I’ll give +him his payment. If ever he go alone again I’ll never wrestle for prize +more. And so, God keep your worship. + +[_Exit._] + +OLIVER. +Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I hope I shall +see an end of him; for my soul—yet I know not why—hates nothing more +than he. Yet he’s gentle, never schooled and yet learned, full of noble +device, of all sorts enchantingly beloved, and indeed so much in the +heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, +that I am altogether misprized. But it shall not be so long; this +wrestler shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy +thither, which now I’ll go about. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. A Lawn before the Duke’s Palace + +Enter Rosalind and Celia. + +CELIA. +I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry. + +ROSALIND. +Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of, and would you yet +I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, +you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure. + +CELIA. +Herein I see thou lov’st me not with the full weight that I love thee. +If my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the Duke my +father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love +to take thy father for mine. So wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love +to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee. + +ROSALIND. +Well, I will forget the condition of my estate to rejoice in yours. + +CELIA. +You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and +truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir, for what he hath taken away +from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection. By +mine honour I will! And when I break that oath, let me turn monster. +Therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry. + +ROSALIND. +From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see—what think +you of falling in love? + +CELIA. +Marry, I prithee do, to make sport withal; but love no man in good +earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with safety of a pure +blush thou mayst in honour come off again. + +ROSALIND. +What shall be our sport, then? + +CELIA. +Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her wheel, that her +gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally. + +ROSALIND. +I would we could do so, for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and +the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women. + +CELIA. +’Tis true, for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and +those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favouredly. + +ROSALIND. +Nay, now thou goest from Fortune’s office to Nature’s. Fortune reigns +in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature. + +Enter Touchstone. + +CELIA. +No? When Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall +into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, +hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument? + +ROSALIND. +Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes +Nature’s natural the cutter-off of Nature’s wit. + +CELIA. +Peradventure this is not Fortune’s work neither, but Nature’s, who +perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, and +hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for always the dullness of +the fool is the whetstone of the wits.—How now, wit, whither wander +you? + +TOUCHSTONE. +Mistress, you must come away to your father. + +CELIA. +Were you made the messenger? + +TOUCHSTONE. +No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you. + +ROSALIND. +Where learned you that oath, fool? + +TOUCHSTONE. +Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, +and swore by his honour the mustard was naught. Now, I’ll stand to it, +the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the +knight forsworn. + +CELIA. +How prove you that in the great heap of your knowledge? + +ROSALIND. +Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards +that I am a knave. + +CELIA. +By our beards, if we had them, thou art. + +TOUCHSTONE. +By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you swear by that that +is not, you are not forsworn. No more was this knight swearing by his +honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before +ever he saw those pancackes or that mustard. + +CELIA. +Prithee, who is’t that thou mean’st? + +TOUCHSTONE. +One that old Frederick, your father, loves. + +CELIA. +My father’s love is enough to honour him. Enough! Speak no more of him. +You’ll be whipped for taxation one of these days. + +TOUCHSTONE. +The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do +foolishly. + +CELIA. +By my troth, thou sayest true. For since the little wit that fools have +was silenced, the little foolery that wise men have makes a great show. +Here comes Monsieur Le Beau. + +Enter Le Beau. + +ROSALIND. +With his mouth full of news. + +CELIA. +Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young. + +ROSALIND. +Then shall we be news-crammed. + +CELIA. +All the better; we shall be the more marketable. +_Bonjour_, Monsieur Le Beau. What’s the news? + +LE BEAU. +Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. + +CELIA. +Sport! Of what colour? + +LE BEAU. +What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? + +ROSALIND. +As wit and fortune will. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Or as the destinies decrees. + +CELIA. +Well said. That was laid on with a trowel. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Nay, if I keep not my rank— + +ROSALIND. +Thou losest thy old smell. + +LE BEAU. +You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good wrestling, which +you have lost the sight of. + +ROSALIND. +Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. + +LE BEAU. +I will tell you the beginning and, if it please your ladyships, you may +see the end, for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they +are coming to perform it. + +CELIA. +Well, the beginning that is dead and buried. + +LE BEAU. +There comes an old man and his three sons— + +CELIA. +I could match this beginning with an old tale. + +LE BEAU. +Three proper young men of excellent growth and presence. + +ROSALIND. +With bills on their necks: “Be it known unto all men by these +presents.” + +LE BEAU. +The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, +which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that +there is little hope of life in him. So he served the second, and so +the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man their father making such +pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with +weeping. + +ROSALIND. +Alas! + +TOUCHSTONE. +But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? + +LE BEAU. +Why, this that I speak of. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time that ever I +heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. + +CELIA. +Or I, I promise thee. + +ROSALIND. +But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? Is +there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, +cousin? + +LE BEAU. +You must if you stay here, for here is the place appointed for the +wrestling, and they are ready to perform it. + +CELIA. +Yonder, sure, they are coming. Let us now stay and see it. + +Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles and Attendants. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Come on. Since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his +forwardness. + +ROSALIND. +Is yonder the man? + +LE BEAU. +Even he, madam. + +CELIA. +Alas, he is too young. Yet he looks successfully. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +How now, daughter and cousin? Are you crept hither to see the +wrestling? + +ROSALIND. +Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there is such odds +in the man. In pity of the challenger’s youth I would fain dissuade +him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can +move him. + +CELIA. +Call him hither, good Monsieur Le Beau. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Do so; I’ll not be by. + +[_Duke Frederick steps aside._] + +LE BEAU. +Monsieur the challenger, the Princess calls for you. + +ORLANDO. +I attend them with all respect and duty. + +ROSALIND. +Young man, have you challenged Charles the wrestler? + +ORLANDO. +No, fair princess. He is the general challenger. I come but in as +others do, to try with him the strength of my youth. + +CELIA. +Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. You have +seen cruel proof of this man’s strength. If you saw yourself with your +eyes or knew yourself with your judgement, the fear of your adventure +would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you for your own +sake to embrace your own safety and give over this attempt. + +ROSALIND. +Do, young sir. Your reputation shall not therefore be misprized. We +will make it our suit to the Duke that the wrestling might not go +forward. + +ORLANDO. +I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess +me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent ladies anything. But let +your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to my trial, wherein if I +be foiled there is but one shamed that was never gracious; if killed, +but one dead that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, +for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have +nothing. Only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better +supplied when I have made it empty. + +ROSALIND. +The little strength that I have, I would it were with you. + +CELIA. +And mine to eke out hers. + +ROSALIND. +Fare you well. Pray heaven I be deceived in you. + +CELIA. +Your heart’s desires be with you. + +CHARLES. +Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his +mother earth? + +ORLANDO. +Ready, sir; but his will hath in it a more modest working. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +You shall try but one fall. + +CHARLES. +No, I warrant your grace you shall not entreat him to a second, that +have so mightily persuaded him from a first. + +ORLANDO. +You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked me before. But +come your ways. + +ROSALIND. +Now, Hercules be thy speed, young man! + +CELIA. +I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg. + +[_Orlando and Charles wrestle._] + +ROSALIND. +O excellent young man! + +CELIA. +If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. + +[_Charles is thrown. Shout._] + +DUKE FREDERICK. +No more, no more. + +ORLANDO. +Yes, I beseech your grace. I am not yet well breathed. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +How dost thou, Charles? + +LE BEAU. +He cannot speak, my lord. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Bear him away. + +[_Charles is carried off by Attendants._] + +What is thy name, young man? + +ORLANDO. +Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +I would thou hadst been son to some man else. +The world esteemed thy father honourable, +But I did find him still mine enemy. +Thou shouldst have better pleased me with this deed +Hadst thou descended from another house. +But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth. +I would thou hadst told me of another father. + +[_Exeunt Duke Frederick, Le Beau and Lords._] + +CELIA. +Were I my father, coz, would I do this? + +ORLANDO. +I am more proud to be Sir Rowland’s son, +His youngest son, and would not change that calling +To be adopted heir to Frederick. + +ROSALIND. +My father loved Sir Rowland as his soul, +And all the world was of my father’s mind. +Had I before known this young man his son, +I should have given him tears unto entreaties +Ere he should thus have ventured. + +CELIA. +Gentle cousin, +Let us go thank him and encourage him. +My father’s rough and envious disposition +Sticks me at heart.—Sir, you have well deserved. +If you do keep your promises in love +But justly, as you have exceeded promise, +Your mistress shall be happy. + +ROSALIND. +Gentleman, + +[_Giving him a chain from her neck_.] + +Wear this for me—one out of suits with Fortune, +That could give more but that her hand lacks means.— +Shall we go, coz? + +CELIA. +Ay.—Fare you well, fair gentleman. + +ORLANDO. +Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts +Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up +Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. + +ROSALIND. +He calls us back. My pride fell with my fortunes. +I’ll ask him what he would.—Did you call, sir?— +Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown +More than your enemies. + +CELIA. +Will you go, coz? + +ROSALIND. +Have with you.—Fare you well. + +[_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia._] + +ORLANDO. +What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? +I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference. +O poor Orlando, thou art overthrown. +Or Charles or something weaker masters thee. + +Enter Le Beau. + +LE BEAU. +Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you +To leave this place. Albeit you have deserved +High commendation, true applause, and love, +Yet such is now the Duke’s condition +That he misconsters all that you have done. +The Duke is humorous; what he is indeed +More suits you to conceive than I to speak of. + +ORLANDO. +I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this: +Which of the two was daughter of the Duke +That here was at the wrestling? + +LE BEAU. +Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners, +But yet indeed the smaller is his daughter. +The other is daughter to the banished Duke, +And here detained by her usurping uncle +To keep his daughter company, whose loves +Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters. +But I can tell you that of late this Duke +Hath ta’en displeasure ’gainst his gentle niece, +Grounded upon no other argument +But that the people praise her for her virtues +And pity her for her good father’s sake; +And, on my life, his malice ’gainst the lady +Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well. +Hereafter, in a better world than this, +I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. + +ORLANDO. +I rest much bounden to you; fare you well! + +[_Exit Le Beau._] + +Thus must I from the smoke into the smother, +From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother. +But heavenly Rosalind! + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE III. A Room in the Palace + +Enter Celia and Rosalind. + +CELIA. +Why, cousin, why, Rosalind! Cupid have mercy! Not a word? + +ROSALIND. +Not one to throw at a dog. + +CELIA. +No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs. Throw some of +them at me. Come, lame me with reasons. + +ROSALIND. +Then there were two cousins laid up, when the one should be lamed with +reasons and the other mad without any. + +CELIA. +But is all this for your father? + +ROSALIND. +No, some of it is for my child’s father. O, how full of briers is this +working-day world! + +CELIA. +They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery. If we +walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. + +ROSALIND. +I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart. + +CELIA. +Hem them away. + +ROSALIND. +I would try, if I could cry “hem” and have him. + +CELIA. +Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. + +ROSALIND. +O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. + +CELIA. +O, a good wish upon you! You will try in time, in despite of a fall. +But turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is +it possible on such a sudden you should fall into so strong a liking +with old Sir Rowland’s youngest son? + +ROSALIND. +The Duke my father loved his father dearly. + +CELIA. +Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this +kind of chase I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; +yet I hate not Orlando. + +ROSALIND. +No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. + +CELIA. +Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well? + +Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. + +ROSALIND. +Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do.—Look, here +comes the Duke. + +CELIA. +With his eyes full of anger. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste, +And get you from our court. + +ROSALIND. +Me, uncle? + +DUKE FREDERICK. +You, cousin. +Within these ten days if that thou be’st found +So near our public court as twenty miles, +Thou diest for it. + +ROSALIND. +I do beseech your Grace, +Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me. +If with myself I hold intelligence, +Or have acquaintance with mine own desires, +If that I do not dream, or be not frantic— +As I do trust I am not—then, dear uncle, +Never so much as in a thought unborn +Did I offend your Highness. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Thus do all traitors. +If their purgation did consist in words, +They are as innocent as grace itself. +Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. + +ROSALIND. +Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor. +Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Thou art thy father’s daughter, there’s enough. + +ROSALIND. +So was I when your highness took his dukedom; +So was I when your highness banished him. +Treason is not inherited, my lord, +Or, if we did derive it from our friends, +What’s that to me? My father was no traitor. +Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much +To think my poverty is treacherous. + +CELIA. +Dear sovereign, hear me speak. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Ay, Celia, we stayed her for your sake, +Else had she with her father ranged along. + +CELIA. +I did not then entreat to have her stay; +It was your pleasure and your own remorse. +I was too young that time to value her, +But now I know her. If she be a traitor, +Why, so am I. We still have slept together, +Rose at an instant, learned, played, ate together, +And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans, +Still we went coupled and inseparable. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +She is too subtle for thee, and her smoothness, +Her very silence, and her patience +Speak to the people, and they pity her. +Thou art a fool. She robs thee of thy name, +And thou wilt show more bright and seem more virtuous +When she is gone. Then open not thy lips. +Firm and irrevocable is my doom +Which I have passed upon her. She is banished. + +CELIA. +Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege. +I cannot live out of her company. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +You are a fool. You, niece, provide yourself. +If you outstay the time, upon mine honour +And in the greatness of my word, you die. + +[_Exeunt Duke Frederick and Lords._] + +CELIA. +O my poor Rosalind, whither wilt thou go? +Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. +I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. + +ROSALIND. +I have more cause. + +CELIA. +Thou hast not, cousin. +Prithee be cheerful. Know’st thou not the Duke +Hath banished me, his daughter? + +ROSALIND. +That he hath not. + +CELIA. +No, hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love +Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one. +Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl? +No, let my father seek another heir. +Therefore devise with me how we may fly, +Whither to go, and what to bear with us, +And do not seek to take your change upon you, +To bear your griefs yourself and leave me out. +For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale, +Say what thou canst, I’ll go along with thee. + +ROSALIND. +Why, whither shall we go? + +CELIA. +To seek my uncle in the Forest of Arden. + +ROSALIND. +Alas, what danger will it be to us, +Maids as we are, to travel forth so far? +Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold. + +CELIA. +I’ll put myself in poor and mean attire, +And with a kind of umber smirch my face. +The like do you; so shall we pass along +And never stir assailants. + +ROSALIND. +Were it not better, +Because that I am more than common tall, +That I did suit me all points like a man? +A gallant curtal-axe upon my thigh, +A boar-spear in my hand, and in my heart +Lie there what hidden woman’s fear there will, +We’ll have a swashing and a martial outside, +As many other mannish cowards have +That do outface it with their semblances. + +CELIA. +What shall I call thee when thou art a man? + +ROSALIND. +I’ll have no worse a name than Jove’s own page, +And therefore look you call me Ganymede. +But what will you be called? + +CELIA. +Something that hath a reference to my state: +No longer Celia, but Aliena. + +ROSALIND. +But, cousin, what if we assayed to steal +The clownish fool out of your father’s court? +Would he not be a comfort to our travel? + +CELIA. +He’ll go along o’er the wide world with me. +Leave me alone to woo him. Let’s away, +And get our jewels and our wealth together, +Devise the fittest time and safest way +To hide us from pursuit that will be made +After my flight. Now go we in content +To liberty, and not to banishment. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. The Forest of Arden + + +Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and two or three Lords, dressed as foresters. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, +Hath not old custom made this life more sweet +Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods +More free from peril than the envious court? +Here feel we not the penalty of Adam, +The seasons’ difference, as the icy fang +And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind, +Which when it bites and blows upon my body +Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say: +“This is no flattery. These are counsellors +That feelingly persuade me what I am.” +Sweet are the uses of adversity, +Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, +Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; +And this our life, exempt from public haunt, +Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, +Sermons in stones, and good in everything. + +AMIENS. +I would not change it. Happy is your grace, +That can translate the stubbornness of fortune +Into so quiet and so sweet a style. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Come, shall we go and kill us venison? +And yet it irks me the poor dappled fools, +Being native burghers of this desert city, +Should in their own confines with forked heads +Have their round haunches gored. + +FIRST LORD. +Indeed, my lord, +The melancholy Jaques grieves at that, +And in that kind swears you do more usurp +Than doth your brother that hath banished you. +Today my lord of Amiens and myself +Did steal behind him as he lay along +Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out +Upon the brook that brawls along this wood; +To the which place a poor sequestered stag, +That from the hunter’s aim had ta’en a hurt, +Did come to languish; and indeed, my lord, +The wretched animal heaved forth such groans +That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat +Almost to bursting, and the big round tears +Coursed one another down his innocent nose +In piteous chase. And thus the hairy fool, +Much marked of the melancholy Jaques, +Stood on th’ extremest verge of the swift brook, +Augmenting it with tears. + +DUKE SENIOR. +But what said Jaques? +Did he not moralize this spectacle? + +FIRST LORD. +O yes, into a thousand similes. +First, for his weeping into the needless stream: +“Poor deer,” quoth he “thou mak’st a testament +As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more +To that which had too much.” Then, being there alone, +Left and abandoned of his velvet friends: +“’Tis right”; quoth he, “thus misery doth part +The flux of company.” Anon a careless herd, +Full of the pasture, jumps along by him +And never stays to greet him. “Ay,” quoth Jaques, +“Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens! +’Tis just the fashion. Wherefore do you look +Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?” +Thus most invectively he pierceth through +The body of the country, city, court, +Yea, and of this our life, swearing that we +Are mere usurpers, tyrants, and what’s worse, +To fright the animals and to kill them up +In their assigned and native dwelling-place. + +DUKE SENIOR. +And did you leave him in this contemplation? + +SECOND LORD. +We did, my lord, weeping and commenting +Upon the sobbing deer. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Show me the place. +I love to cope him in these sullen fits, +For then he’s full of matter. + +FIRST LORD. +I’ll bring you to him straight. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A Room in the Palace + +Enter Duke Frederick with Lords. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Can it be possible that no man saw them? +It cannot be! Some villains of my court +Are of consent and sufferance in this. + +FIRST LORD. +I cannot hear of any that did see her. +The ladies, her attendants of her chamber, +Saw her abed, and in the morning early +They found the bed untreasured of their mistress. + +SECOND LORD. +My lord, the roynish clown, at whom so oft +Your grace was wont to laugh, is also missing. +Hesperia, the princess’ gentlewoman, +Confesses that she secretly o’erheard +Your daughter and her cousin much commend +The parts and graces of the wrestler +That did but lately foil the sinewy Charles; +And she believes wherever they are gone +That youth is surely in their company. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Send to his brother; fetch that gallant hither. +If he be absent, bring his brother to me. +I’ll make him find him. Do this suddenly! +And let not search and inquisition quail +To bring again these foolish runaways. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Before Oliver’s House + +Enter Orlando and Adam, meeting. + +ORLANDO. +Who’s there? + +ADAM. +What, my young master? O my gentle master, +O my sweet master, O you memory +Of old Sir Rowland! Why, what make you here? +Why are you virtuous? Why do people love you? +And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant? +Why would you be so fond to overcome +The bonny prizer of the humorous Duke? +Your praise is come too swiftly home before you. +Know you not, master, to some kind of men +Their graces serve them but as enemies? +No more do yours. Your virtues, gentle master, +Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. +O, what a world is this, when what is comely +Envenoms him that bears it! + +ORLANDO. +Why, what’s the matter? + +ADAM. +O unhappy youth, +Come not within these doors! Within this roof +The enemy of all your graces lives. +Your brother—no, no brother, yet the son— +Yet not the son; I will not call him son— +Of him I was about to call his father, +Hath heard your praises, and this night he means +To burn the lodging where you use to lie, +And you within it. If he fail of that, +He will have other means to cut you off; +I overheard him and his practices. +This is no place; this house is but a butchery. +Abhor it, fear it, do not enter it. + +ORLANDO. +Why, whither, Adam, wouldst thou have me go? + +ADAM. +No matter whither, so you come not here. + +ORLANDO. +What, wouldst thou have me go and beg my food, +Or with a base and boisterous sword enforce +A thievish living on the common road? +This I must do, or know not what to do. +Yet this I will not do, do how I can. +I rather will subject me to the malice +Of a diverted blood and bloody brother. + +ADAM. +But do not so. I have five hundred crowns, +The thrifty hire I saved under your father, +Which I did store to be my foster-nurse, +When service should in my old limbs lie lame, +And unregarded age in corners thrown. +Take that, and He that doth the ravens feed, +Yea, providently caters for the sparrow, +Be comfort to my age. Here is the gold. +All this I give you. Let me be your servant. +Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty, +For in my youth I never did apply +Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood, +Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo +The means of weakness and debility. +Therefore my age is as a lusty winter, +Frosty but kindly. Let me go with you. +I’ll do the service of a younger man +In all your business and necessities. + +ORLANDO. +O good old man, how well in thee appears +The constant service of the antique world, +When service sweat for duty, not for meed. +Thou art not for the fashion of these times, +Where none will sweat but for promotion, +And having that do choke their service up +Even with the having. It is not so with thee. +But, poor old man, thou prun’st a rotten tree, +That cannot so much as a blossom yield +In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. +But come thy ways, we’ll go along together, +And ere we have thy youthful wages spent +We’ll light upon some settled low content. + +ADAM. +Master, go on and I will follow thee +To the last gasp with truth and loyalty. +From seventeen years till now almost fourscore +Here lived I, but now live here no more. +At seventeen years many their fortunes seek, +But at fourscore it is too late a week. +Yet fortune cannot recompense me better +Than to die well and not my master’s debtor. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden + +Enter Rosalind as Ganymede, Celia as Aliena, and Touchstone. + +ROSALIND. +O Jupiter, how weary are my spirits! + +TOUCHSTONE. +I care not for my spirits, if my legs were not weary. + +ROSALIND. +I could find in my heart to disgrace my man’s apparel, and to cry like +a woman, but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose +ought to show itself courageous to petticoat. Therefore, courage, good +Aliena. + +CELIA. +I pray you bear with me, I cannot go no further. + +TOUCHSTONE. +For my part, I had rather bear with you than bear you. Yet I should +bear no cross if I did bear you, for I think you have no money in your +purse. + +ROSALIND. +Well, this is the forest of Arden. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Ay, now am I in Arden, the more fool I! When I was at home I was in a +better place, but travellers must be content. + +Enter Corin and Silvius. + +ROSALIND. +Ay, be so, good Touchstone. Look you, who comes here? A young man and +an old in solemn talk. + +CORIN. +That is the way to make her scorn you still. + +SILVIUS. +O Corin, that thou knew’st how I do love her! + +CORIN. +I partly guess, for I have loved ere now. + +SILVIUS. +No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess, +Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover +As ever sighed upon a midnight pillow. +But if thy love were ever like to mine— +As sure I think did never man love so— +How many actions most ridiculous +Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy? + +CORIN. +Into a thousand that I have forgotten. + +SILVIUS. +O, thou didst then never love so heartily! +If thou rememb’rest not the slightest folly +That ever love did make thee run into, +Thou hast not loved. +Or if thou hast not sat as I do now, +Wearing thy hearer in thy mistress’ praise, +Thou hast not loved. +Or if thou hast not broke from company +Abruptly, as my passion now makes me, +Thou hast not loved. +O Phoebe, Phoebe, Phoebe! + +[_Exit Silvius._] + +ROSALIND. +Alas, poor shepherd, searching of thy wound, +I have by hard adventure found mine own. + +TOUCHSTONE. +And I mine. I remember when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone +and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile; and I remember +the kissing of her batlet, and the cow’s dugs that her pretty chopped +hands had milked; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of +her, from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them again, said with +weeping tears, “Wear these for my sake.” We that are true lovers run +into strange capers. But as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature +in love mortal in folly. + +ROSALIND. +Thou speak’st wiser than thou art ware of. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Nay, I shall ne’er be ware of mine own wit till I break my shins +against it. + +ROSALIND. +Jove, Jove, this shepherd’s passion +Is much upon my fashion. + +TOUCHSTONE. +And mine, but it grows something stale with me. + +CELIA. +I pray you, one of you question yond man +If he for gold will give us any food. +I faint almost to death. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Holla, you clown! + +ROSALIND. +Peace, fool, he’s not thy kinsman. + +CORIN. +Who calls? + +TOUCHSTONE. +Your betters, sir. + +CORIN. +Else are they very wretched. + +ROSALIND. +Peace, I say.—Good even to you, friend. + +CORIN. +And to you, gentle sir, and to you all. + +ROSALIND. +I prithee, shepherd, if that love or gold +Can in this desert place buy entertainment, +Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed. +Here’s a young maid with travel much oppressed, +And faints for succour. + +CORIN. +Fair sir, I pity her +And wish, for her sake more than for mine own, +My fortunes were more able to relieve her. +But I am shepherd to another man +And do not shear the fleeces that I graze. +My master is of churlish disposition +And little recks to find the way to heaven +By doing deeds of hospitality. +Besides, his cote, his flocks, and bounds of feed +Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now, +By reason of his absence, there is nothing +That you will feed on. But what is, come see, +And in my voice most welcome shall you be. + +ROSALIND. +What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture? + +CORIN. +That young swain that you saw here but erewhile, +That little cares for buying anything. + +ROSALIND. +I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, +Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, +And thou shalt have to pay for it of us. + +CELIA. +And we will mend thy wages. I like this place, +And willingly could waste my time in it. + +CORIN. +Assuredly the thing is to be sold. +Go with me. If you like upon report +The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, +I will your very faithful feeder be, +And buy it with your gold right suddenly. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Amiens, Jaques and others. + +AMIENS. +[_Sings_.] + + Under the greenwood tree, + Who loves to lie with me + And turn his merry note + Unto the sweet bird’s throat, + Come hither, come hither, come hither! + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather. + +JAQUES. +More, more, I prithee, more. + +AMIENS. +It will make you melancholy, Monsieur Jaques. + +JAQUES. +I thank it. More, I prithee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song +as a weasel sucks eggs. More, I prithee, more. + +AMIENS. +My voice is ragged. I know I cannot please you. + +JAQUES. +I do not desire you to please me; I do desire you to sing. Come, more, +another _stanzo_. Call you ’em _stanzos?_ + +AMIENS. +What you will, Monsieur Jaques. + +JAQUES. +Nay, I care not for their names. They owe me nothing. Will you sing? + +AMIENS. +More at your request than to please myself. + +JAQUES. +Well then, if ever I thank any man, I’ll thank you; but that they call +compliment is like th’ encounter of two dog-apes. And when a man thanks +me heartily, methinks I have given him a penny and he renders me the +beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues. + +AMIENS. +Well, I’ll end the song.—Sirs, cover the while. The Duke will drink +under this tree; he hath been all this day to look you. + +JAQUES. +And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputable for my +company. I think of as many matters as he, but I give heaven thanks and +make no boast of them. Come, warble, come. + +AMIENS. +[_Sings_.] + + Who doth ambition shun + And loves to live i’ th’ sun, + Seeking the food he eats + And pleased with what he gets, + Come hither, come hither, come hither. + Here shall he see + No enemy + But winter and rough weather. + +JAQUES. +I’ll give you a verse to this note that I made yesterday in despite of +my invention. + +AMIENS. +And I’ll sing it. + +JAQUES. +Thus it goes: + + If it do come to pass + That any man turn ass, + Leaving his wealth and ease + A stubborn will to please, + Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame; + Here shall he see + Gross fools as he, + An if he will come to me. + +AMIENS. +What’s that “ducdame?” + +JAQUES. +’Tis a Greek invocation to call fools into a circle. I’ll go sleep if I +can; if I cannot, I’ll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. + +AMIENS. +And I’ll go seek the Duke; his banquet is prepared. + +[_Exeunt severally._] + +SCENE VI. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Orlando and Adam. + +ADAM. +Dear master, I can go no further. O, I die for food! Here lie I down +and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master. + +ORLANDO. +Why, how now, Adam? No greater heart in thee? Live a little, comfort a +little, cheer thyself a little. If this uncouth forest yield anything +savage, I will either be food for it or bring it for food to thee. Thy +conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable. +Hold death awhile at the arm’s end. I will here be with thee presently, +and if I bring thee not something to eat, I’ll give thee leave to die. +But if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labour. Well +said, thou look’st cheerly, and I’ll be with thee quickly. Yet thou +liest in the bleak air. Come, I will bear thee to some shelter and thou +shalt not die for lack of a dinner if there live anything in this +desert. Cheerly, good Adam! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Duke Senior, Amiens and Lords as outlaws. + +DUKE SENIOR. +I think he be transformed into a beast, +For I can nowhere find him like a man. + +FIRST LORD. +My lord, he is but even now gone hence; +Here was he merry, hearing of a song. + +DUKE SENIOR. +If he, compact of jars, grow musical, +We shall have shortly discord in the spheres. +Go seek him, tell him I would speak with him. + +Enter Jaques. + +FIRST LORD. +He saves my labour by his own approach. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Why, how now, monsieur? What a life is this +That your poor friends must woo your company? +What, you look merrily. + +JAQUES. +A fool, a fool! I met a fool i’ th’ forest, +A motley fool. A miserable world! +As I do live by food, I met a fool, +Who laid him down and basked him in the sun, +And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms, +In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. +“Good morrow, fool,” quoth I. “No, sir,” quoth he, +“Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.” +And then he drew a dial from his poke, +And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, +Says very wisely, “It is ten o’clock. +Thus we may see,” quoth he, “how the world wags. +’Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, +And after one hour more ’twill be eleven. +And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, +And then from hour to hour we rot and rot, +And thereby hangs a tale.” When I did hear +The motley fool thus moral on the time, +My lungs began to crow like chanticleer, +That fools should be so deep-contemplative, +And I did laugh sans intermission +An hour by his dial. O noble fool! +A worthy fool! Motley’s the only wear. + +DUKE SENIOR. +What fool is this? + +JAQUES. +O worthy fool!—One that hath been a courtier, +And says if ladies be but young and fair, +They have the gift to know it. And in his brain, +Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit +After a voyage, he hath strange places crammed +With observation, the which he vents +In mangled forms. O that I were a fool! +I am ambitious for a motley coat. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Thou shalt have one. + +JAQUES. +It is my only suit, +Provided that you weed your better judgements +Of all opinion that grows rank in them +That I am wise. I must have liberty +Withal, as large a charter as the wind, +To blow on whom I please, for so fools have. +And they that are most galled with my folly, +They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? +The “why” is plain as way to parish church. +He that a fool doth very wisely hit +Doth very foolishly, although he smart, +Not to seem senseless of the bob. If not, +The wise man’s folly is anatomized +Even by the squandering glances of the fool. +Invest me in my motley. Give me leave +To speak my mind, and I will through and through +Cleanse the foul body of th’ infected world, +If they will patiently receive my medicine. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Fie on thee! I can tell what thou wouldst do. + +JAQUES. +What, for a counter, would I do but good? + +DUKE SENIOR. +Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin; +For thou thyself hast been a libertine, +As sensual as the brutish sting itself, +And all th’ embossed sores and headed evils +That thou with license of free foot hast caught +Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world. + +JAQUES. +Why, who cries out on pride +That can therein tax any private party? +Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea +Till that the weary very means do ebb? +What woman in the city do I name +When that I say the city-woman bears +The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders? +Who can come in and say that I mean her, +When such a one as she, such is her neighbour? +Or what is he of basest function +That says his bravery is not on my cost, +Thinking that I mean him, but therein suits +His folly to the mettle of my speech? +There then. How then, what then? Let me see wherein +My tongue hath wronged him. If it do him right, +Then he hath wronged himself. If he be free, +Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies +Unclaimed of any man. But who comes here? + +Enter Orlando with sword drawn. + +ORLANDO. +Forbear, and eat no more. + +JAQUES. +Why, I have eat none yet. + +ORLANDO. +Nor shalt not till necessity be served. + +JAQUES. +Of what kind should this cock come of? + +DUKE SENIOR. +Art thou thus boldened, man, by thy distress? +Or else a rude despiser of good manners, +That in civility thou seem’st so empty? + +ORLANDO. +You touched my vein at first. The thorny point +Of bare distress hath ta’en from me the show +Of smooth civility; yet am I inland bred +And know some nurture. But forbear, I say! +He dies that touches any of this fruit +Till I and my affairs are answered. + +JAQUES. +An you will not be answered with reason, I must die. + +DUKE SENIOR. +What would you have? Your gentleness shall force +More than your force move us to gentleness. + +ORLANDO. +I almost die for food, and let me have it. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. + +ORLANDO. +Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you. +I thought that all things had been savage here +And therefore put I on the countenance +Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are +That in this desert inaccessible, +Under the shade of melancholy boughs, +Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time, +If ever you have looked on better days, +If ever been where bells have knolled to church, +If ever sat at any good man’s feast, +If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, +And know what ’tis to pity and be pitied, +Let gentleness my strong enforcement be, +In the which hope I blush and hide my sword. + +DUKE SENIOR. +True is it that we have seen better days, +And have with holy bell been knolled to church, +And sat at good men’s feasts, and wiped our eyes +Of drops that sacred pity hath engendered. +And therefore sit you down in gentleness, +And take upon command what help we have +That to your wanting may be ministered. + +ORLANDO. +Then but forbear your food a little while, +Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, +And give it food. There is an old poor man +Who after me hath many a weary step +Limped in pure love. Till he be first sufficed, +Oppressed with two weak evils, age and hunger, +I will not touch a bit. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Go find him out, +And we will nothing waste till you return. + +ORLANDO. +I thank ye, and be blest for your good comfort. + +[_Exit._] + +DUKE SENIOR. +Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy. +This wide and universal theatre +Presents more woeful pageants than the scene +Wherein we play in. + +JAQUES. +All the world’s a stage, +And all the men and women merely players; +They have their exits and their entrances, +And one man in his time plays many parts, +His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, +Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms; +Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel +And shining morning face, creeping like snail +Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, +Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad +Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier, +Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, +Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, +Seeking the bubble reputation +Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice, +In fair round belly with good capon lined, +With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, +Full of wise saws and modern instances; +And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts +Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, +With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, +His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide +For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, +Turning again toward childish treble, pipes +And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, +That ends this strange eventful history, +Is second childishness and mere oblivion, +Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. + +Enter Orlando bearing Adam. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Welcome. Set down your venerable burden, +And let him feed. + +ORLANDO. +I thank you most for him. + +ADAM. +So had you need; +I scarce can speak to thank you for myself. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Welcome, fall to. I will not trouble you +As yet to question you about your fortunes. +Give us some music, and good cousin, sing. + +SONG. + + +AMIENS. (_Sings_.) + Blow, blow, thou winter wind, + Thou art not so unkind + As man’s ingratitude. + Thy tooth is not so keen, + Because thou art not seen, + Although thy breath be rude. +Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly. +Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. + Then, heigh-ho, the holly! + This life is most jolly. + + Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, + That dost not bite so nigh + As benefits forgot. + Though thou the waters warp, + Thy sting is not so sharp + As friend remembered not. +Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly. +Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. + Then, heigh-ho, the holly! + This life is most jolly. + +DUKE SENIOR. +If that you were the good Sir Rowland’s son, +As you have whispered faithfully you were, +And as mine eye doth his effigies witness +Most truly limned and living in your face, +Be truly welcome hither. I am the Duke +That loved your father. The residue of your fortune +Go to my cave and tell me.—Good old man, +Thou art right welcome as thy master is. +Support him by the arm. [_To Orlando_.] Give me your hand, +And let me all your fortunes understand. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. A Room in the Palace + + +Enter Duke Frederick, Lords and Oliver. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be. +But were I not the better part made mercy, +I should not seek an absent argument +Of my revenge, thou present. But look to it: +Find out thy brother wheresoe’er he is. +Seek him with candle. Bring him dead or living +Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more +To seek a living in our territory. +Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine +Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands, +Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother’s mouth +Of what we think against thee. + +OLIVER. +O that your highness knew my heart in this: +I never loved my brother in my life. + +DUKE FREDERICK. +More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors, +And let my officers of such a nature +Make an extent upon his house and lands. +Do this expediently, and turn him going. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The Forest of Arden + +Enter Orlando with a paper. + +ORLANDO. +Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love. + And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey +With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, + Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway. +O Rosalind, these trees shall be my books, + And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character, +That every eye which in this forest looks + Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere. +Run, run, Orlando, carve on every tree +The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter Corin and Touchstone. + +CORIN. +And how like you this shepherd’s life, Master Touchstone? + +TOUCHSTONE. +Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in +respect that it is a shepherd’s life, it is naught. In respect that it +is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it +is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me +well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a +spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more +plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in +thee, shepherd? + +CORIN. +No more but that I know the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; +and that he that wants money, means, and content is without three good +friends; that the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn; that +good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night is +lack of the sun; that he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may +complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd? + +CORIN. +No, truly. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Then thou art damned. + +CORIN. +Nay, I hope. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Truly, thou art damned, like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side. + +CORIN. +For not being at court? Your reason. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw’st good manners; if +thou never saw’st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked, and +wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, +shepherd. + +CORIN. +Not a whit, Touchstone. Those that are good manners at the court are as +ridiculous in the country as the behaviour of the country is most +mockable at the court. You told me you salute not at the court but you +kiss your hands. That courtesy would be uncleanly if courtiers were +shepherds. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Instance, briefly. Come, instance. + +CORIN. +Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are +greasy. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Why, do not your courtier’s hands sweat? And is not the grease of a +mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better +instance, I say. Come. + +CORIN. +Besides, our hands are hard. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder +instance, come. + +CORIN. +And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would +you have us kiss tar? The courtier’s hands are perfumed with civet. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Most shallow man! Thou worm’s meat in respect of a good piece of flesh +indeed! Learn of the wise and perpend. Civet is of a baser birth than +tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. + +CORIN. +You have too courtly a wit for me. I’ll rest. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in +thee, thou art raw. + +CORIN. +Sir, I am a true labourer. I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no +man hate, envy no man’s happiness, glad of other men’s good, content +with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and +my lambs suck. + +TOUCHSTONE. +That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams +together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; +to be bawd to a bell-wether and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth +to crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If +thou be’st not damned for this, the devil himself will have no +shepherds. I cannot see else how thou shouldst ’scape. + +Enter Rosalind as Ganymede. + +CORIN. +Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress’s brother. + +ROSALIND. +[_Reads_.] + _From the east to western Inde + No jewel is like Rosalind. + Her worth being mounted on the wind, + Through all the world bears Rosalind. + All the pictures fairest lined + Are but black to Rosalind. + Let no face be kept in mind + But the fair of Rosalind._ + +TOUCHSTONE. +I’ll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and suppers and +sleeping hours excepted. It is the right butter-women’s rank to market. + +ROSALIND. +Out, fool! + +TOUCHSTONE. + For a taste: + If a hart do lack a hind, + Let him seek out Rosalind. + If the cat will after kind, + So be sure will Rosalind. + Winter garments must be lined, + So must slender Rosalind. + They that reap must sheaf and bind, + Then to cart with Rosalind. + Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, + Such a nut is Rosalind. + He that sweetest rose will find + Must find love’s prick, and Rosalind. +This is the very false gallop of verses. Why do you infect yourself +with them? + +ROSALIND. +Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. + +ROSALIND. +I’ll graft it with you, and then I shall graft it with a medlar. Then +it will be the earliest fruit i’ th’ country, for you’ll be rotten ere +you be half ripe, and that’s the right virtue of the medlar. + +TOUCHSTONE. +You have said, but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. + +Enter Celia as Aliena, reading a paper. + +ROSALIND. +Peace, here comes my sister, reading. Stand aside. + +CELIA. +[_Reads_.] + _Why should this a desert be? + For it is unpeopled? No! + Tongues I’ll hang on every tree + That shall civil sayings show. + Some, how brief the life of man + Runs his erring pilgrimage, + That the streching of a span + Buckles in his sum of age; + Some, of violated vows + ’Twixt the souls of friend and friend. + But upon the fairest boughs, + Or at every sentence’ end, + Will I “Rosalinda” write, + Teaching all that read to know + The quintessence of every sprite + Heaven would in little show. + Therefore heaven nature charged + That one body should be filled + With all graces wide-enlarged. + Nature presently distilled + Helen’s cheek, but not her heart, + Cleopatra’s majesty; + Atalanta’s better part, + Sad Lucretia’s modesty. + Thus Rosalind of many parts + By heavenly synod was devised, + Of many faces, eyes, and hearts + To have the touches dearest prized. + Heaven would that she these gifts should have, + And I to live and die her slave._ + +ROSALIND. +O most gentle Jupiter, what tedious homily of love have you wearied +your parishioners withal, and never cried “Have patience, good people!” + +CELIA. +How now! Back, friends. Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat, though not with bag +and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. + +[_Exeunt Corin and Touchstone._] + +CELIA. +Didst thou hear these verses? + +ROSALIND. +O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some of them had in them +more feet than the verses would bear. + +CELIA. +That’s no matter. The feet might bear the verses. + +ROSALIND. +Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the +verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. + +CELIA. +But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and +carved upon these trees? + +ROSALIND. +I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for +look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never so berhymed since +Pythagoras’ time that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. + +CELIA. +Trow you who hath done this? + +ROSALIND. +Is it a man? + +CELIA. +And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you colour? + +ROSALIND. +I prithee, who? + +CELIA. +O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains +may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. + +ROSALIND. +Nay, but who is it? + +CELIA. +Is it possible? + +ROSALIND. +Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. + +CELIA. +O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful, and yet again +wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping! + +ROSALIND. +Good my complexion! Dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a +man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay +more is a South Sea of discovery. I prithee tell me who is it quickly, +and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour +this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of +narrow-mouthed bottle—either too much at once or none at all. I prithee +take the cork out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. + +CELIA. +So you may put a man in your belly. + +ROSALIND. +Is he of God’s making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or +his chin worth a beard? + +CELIA. +Nay, he hath but a little beard. + +ROSALIND. +Why, God will send more if the man will be thankful. Let me stay the +growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. + +CELIA. +It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s heels and your +heart both in an instant. + +ROSALIND. +Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true maid. + +CELIA. +I’ faith, coz, ’tis he. + +ROSALIND. +Orlando? + +CELIA. +Orlando. + +ROSALIND. +Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he +when thou saw’st him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? +What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he +with thee? And when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. + +CELIA. +You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first. ’Tis a word too great for +any mouth of this age’s size. To say ay and no to these particulars is +more than to answer in a catechism. + +ROSALIND. +But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man’s apparel? Looks +he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? + +CELIA. +It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a +lover. But take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good +observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. + +ROSALIND. +It may well be called Jove’s tree when it drops forth such fruit. + +CELIA. +Give me audience, good madam. + +ROSALIND. +Proceed. + +CELIA. +There lay he, stretched along like a wounded knight. + +ROSALIND. +Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. + +CELIA. +Cry “holla!” to thy tongue, I prithee. It curvets unseasonably. He was +furnished like a hunter. + +ROSALIND. +O, ominous! He comes to kill my heart. + +CELIA. +I would sing my song without a burden. Thou bring’st me out of tune. + +ROSALIND. +Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak. Sweet, say +on. + +Enter Orlando and Jaques. + +CELIA. +You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here? + +ROSALIND. +’Tis he! Slink by, and note him. + +[_Rosalind and Celia step aside._] + +JAQUES. +I thank you for your company but, good faith, I had as lief have been +myself alone. + +ORLANDO. +And so had I, but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your +society. + +JAQUES. +God be wi’ you, let’s meet as little as we can. + +ORLANDO. +I do desire we may be better strangers. + +JAQUES. +I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love songs in their barks. + +ORLANDO. +I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. + +JAQUES. +Rosalind is your love’s name? + +ORLANDO. +Yes, just. + +JAQUES. +I do not like her name. + +ORLANDO. +There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christened. + +JAQUES. +What stature is she of? + +ORLANDO. +Just as high as my heart. + +JAQUES. +You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with +goldsmiths’ wives, and conned them out of rings? + +ORLANDO. +Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have +studied your questions. + +JAQUES. +You have a nimble wit. I think ’twas made of Atalanta’s heels. Will you +sit down with me? And we two will rail against our mistress the world +and all our misery. + +ORLANDO. +I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know +most faults. + +JAQUES. +The worst fault you have is to be in love. + +ORLANDO. +’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. + +JAQUES. +By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you. + +ORLANDO. +He is drowned in the brook. Look but in, and you shall see him. + +JAQUES. +There I shall see mine own figure. + +ORLANDO. +Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher. + +JAQUES. +I’ll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Signior Love. + +ORLANDO. +I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy. + +[_Exit Jaques.—Celia and Rosalind come forward._] + +ROSALIND. +I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the +knave with him. +Do you hear, forester? + +ORLANDO. +Very well. What would you? + +ROSALIND. +I pray you, what is’t o’clock? + +ORLANDO. +You should ask me what time o’ day. There’s no clock in the forest. + +ROSALIND. +Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute +and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of time as well as a +clock. + +ORLANDO. +And why not the swift foot of time? Had not that been as proper? + +ROSALIND. +By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. +I’ll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time +gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. + +ORLANDO. +I prithee, who doth he trot withal? + +ROSALIND. +Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her +marriage and the day it is solemnized. If the interim be but a +se’nnight, time’s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven +year. + +ORLANDO. +Who ambles time withal? + +ROSALIND. +With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that hath not the gout; +for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives +merrily because he feels no pain; the one lacking the burden of lean +and wasteful learning, the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious +penury. These time ambles withal. + +ORLANDO. +Who doth he gallop withal? + +ROSALIND. +With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can +fall, he thinks himself too soon there. + +ORLANDO. +Who stays it still withal? + +ROSALIND. +With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and +then they perceive not how time moves. + +ORLANDO. +Where dwell you, pretty youth? + +ROSALIND. +With this shepherdess, my sister, here in the skirts of the forest, +like fringe upon a petticoat. + +ORLANDO. +Are you native of this place? + +ROSALIND. +As the coney that you see dwell where she is kindled. + +ORLANDO. +Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a +dwelling. + +ROSALIND. +I have been told so of many. But indeed an old religious uncle of mine +taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew +courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read +many lectures against it, and I thank God I am not a woman, to be +touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their +whole sex withal. + +ORLANDO. +Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge +of women? + +ROSALIND. +There were none principal. They were all like one another as halfpence +are, every one fault seeming monstrous till his fellow fault came to +match it. + +ORLANDO. +I prithee recount some of them. + +ROSALIND. +No. I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is +a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving +“Rosalind” on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on +brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet +that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to +have the quotidian of love upon him. + +ORLANDO. +I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you tell me your remedy. + +ROSALIND. +There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you. He taught me how to know a +man in love, in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner. + +ORLANDO. +What were his marks? + +ROSALIND. +A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which you have +not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, +which you have not—but I pardon you for that, for simply your having in +beard is a younger brother’s revenue. Then your hose should be +ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe +untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. +But you are no such man. You are rather point-device in your +accoutrements, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other. + +ORLANDO. +Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. + +ROSALIND. +Me believe it? You may as soon make her that you love believe it, which +I warrant she is apter to do than to confess she does. That is one of +the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. +But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, +wherein Rosalind is so admired? + +ORLANDO. +I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, +that unfortunate he. + +ROSALIND. +But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? + +ORLANDO. +Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. + +ROSALIND. +Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark +house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why they are not so +punished and cured is that the lunacy is so ordinary that the whippers +are in love too. Yet I profess curing it by counsel. + +ORLANDO. +Did you ever cure any so? + +ROSALIND. +Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his +mistress, and I set him every day to woo me; at which time would I, +being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing +and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of +tears, full of smiles; for every passion something and for no passion +truly anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this +colour; would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then +forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my +suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness, which +was to forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook +merely monastic. And thus I cured him, and this way will I take upon me +to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall +not be one spot of love in ’t. + +ORLANDO. +I would not be cured, youth. + +ROSALIND. +I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day +to my cote and woo me. + +ORLANDO. +Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is. + +ROSALIND. +Go with me to it, and I’ll show it you; and by the way you shall tell +me where in the forest you live. Will you go? + +ORLANDO. +With all my heart, good youth. + +ROSALIND. +Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go? + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Touchstone and Audrey; Jaques at a distance observing them. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Come apace, good Audrey. I will fetch up your goats, Audrey. And how, +Audrey? Am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? + +AUDREY. +Your features, Lord warrant us! What features? + +TOUCHSTONE. +I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest +Ovid, was among the Goths. + +JAQUES. +[_Aside_.] O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatched +house! + +TOUCHSTONE. +When a man’s verses cannot be understood, nor a man’s good wit seconded +with the forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than +a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I would the gods had made +thee poetical. + +AUDREY. +I do not know what “poetical” is. Is it honest in deed and word? Is it +a true thing? + +TOUCHSTONE. +No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning, and lovers are +given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry may be said, as lovers, +they do feign. + +AUDREY. +Do you wish, then, that the gods had made me poetical? + +TOUCHSTONE. +I do, truly, for thou swear’st to me thou art honest. Now if thou wert +a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. + +AUDREY. +Would you not have me honest? + +TOUCHSTONE. +No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured; for honesty coupled to +beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar. + +JAQUES. +[_Aside_.] A material fool! + +AUDREY. +Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the gods make me honest. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut were to put good meat +into an unclean dish. + +AUDREY. +I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness; sluttishness may come +hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee. And to that end I +have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who +hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us. + +JAQUES. +[_Aside_.] I would fain see this meeting. + +AUDREY. +Well, the gods give us joy! + +TOUCHSTONE. +Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this +attempt, for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but +horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are +necessary. It is said, “Many a man knows no end of his goods.” Right. +Many a man has good horns and knows no end of them. Well, that is the +dowry of his wife; ’tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor +men alone? No, no, the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is +the single man therefore blessed? No. As a walled town is more worthier +than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable +than the bare brow of a bachelor. And by how much defence is better +than no skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. + +Enter Sir Oliver Martext. + +Here comes Sir Oliver. Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you +dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your +chapel? + +MARTEXT. +Is there none here to give the woman? + +TOUCHSTONE. +I will not take her on gift of any man. + +MARTEXT. +Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. + +JAQUES. +[_Coming forward_.] Proceed, proceed. I’ll give her. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Good even, good Master What-ye-call’t, how do you, sir? You are very +well met. God ’ild you for your last company. I am very glad to see +you. Even a toy in hand here, sir. Nay, pray be covered. + +JAQUES. +Will you be married, motley? + +TOUCHSTONE. +As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her +bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would +be nibbling. + +JAQUES. +And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush +like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell +you what marriage is. This fellow will but join you together as they +join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel, and like +green timber, warp, warp. + +TOUCHSTONE. +[_Aside_.] I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him +than of another, for he is not like to marry me well, and not being +well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my +wife. + +JAQUES. +Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Come, sweet Audrey. We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. +Farewell, good Master Oliver. Not + _O sweet Oliver, + O brave Oliver, + Leave me not behind thee._ +But + _Wind away,— + Begone, I say, + I will not to wedding with thee._ + +[_Exeunt Touchstone, Audrey and Jaques._] + +MARTEXT. +’Tis no matter. Ne’er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me +out of my calling. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest. Before a Cottage + +Enter Rosalind and Celia. + +ROSALIND. +Never talk to me, I will weep. + +CELIA. +Do, I prithee, but yet have the grace to consider that tears do not +become a man. + +ROSALIND. +But have I not cause to weep? + +CELIA. +As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. + +ROSALIND. +His very hair is of the dissembling colour. + +CELIA. +Something browner than Judas’s. Marry, his kisses are Judas’s own +children. + +ROSALIND. +I’ faith, his hair is of a good colour. + +CELIA. +An excellent colour. Your chestnut was ever the only colour. + +ROSALIND. +And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread. + +CELIA. +He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana. A nun of winter’s +sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in +them. + +ROSALIND. +But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? + +CELIA. +Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. + +ROSALIND. +Do you think so? + +CELIA. +Yes. I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer, but for his +verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a +worm-eaten nut. + +ROSALIND. +Not true in love? + +CELIA. +Yes, when he is in, but I think he is not in. + +ROSALIND. +You have heard him swear downright he was. + +CELIA. +“Was” is not “is”. Besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the +word of a tapster. They are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He +attends here in the forest on the Duke your father. + +ROSALIND. +I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him. He asked me +of what parentage I was. I told him, of as good as he, so he laughed +and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when there is such a man as +Orlando? + +CELIA. +O, that’s a brave man! He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, +swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart +the heart of his lover, as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on +one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all’s brave that +youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here? + +Enter Corin. + +CORIN. +Mistress and master, you have oft enquired +After the shepherd that complained of love, +Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, +Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess +That was his mistress. + +CELIA. +Well, and what of him? + +CORIN. +If you will see a pageant truly played +Between the pale complexion of true love +And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain, +Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, +If you will mark it. + +ROSALIND. +O, come, let us remove. +The sight of lovers feedeth those in love. +Bring us to this sight, and you shall say +I’ll prove a busy actor in their play. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Silvius and Phoebe. + +SILVIUS. +Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me, do not, Phoebe. +Say that you love me not, but say not so +In bitterness. The common executioner, +Whose heart th’ accustomed sight of death makes hard, +Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck +But first begs pardon. Will you sterner be +Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops? + +Enter Rosalind, Celia and Corin, at a distance. + +PHOEBE. +I would not be thy executioner; +I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. +Thou tell’st me there is murder in mine eye. +’Tis pretty, sure, and very probable +That eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things, +Who shut their coward gates on atomies, +Should be called tyrants, butchers, murderers. +Now I do frown on thee with all my heart, +And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee. +Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down; +Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame, +Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers. +Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee. +Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains +Some scar of it; lean upon a rush, +The cicatrice and capable impressure +Thy palm some moment keeps. But now mine eyes, +Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not; +Nor I am sure there is not force in eyes +That can do hurt. + +SILVIUS. +O dear Phoebe, +If ever—as that ever may be near— +You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, +Then shall you know the wounds invisible +That love’s keen arrows make. + +PHOEBE. +But till that time +Come not thou near me. And when that time comes, +Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not, +As till that time I shall not pity thee. + +ROSALIND. +[_Advancing_.] And why, I pray you? Who might be your mother, +That you insult, exult, and all at once, +Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty— +As, by my faith, I see no more in you +Than without candle may go dark to bed— +Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? +Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? +I see no more in you than in the ordinary +Of nature’s sale-work. ’Od’s my little life, +I think she means to tangle my eyes too! +No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it. +’Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, +Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream, +That can entame my spirits to your worship. +You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her, +Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? +You are a thousand times a properer man +Than she a woman. ’Tis such fools as you +That makes the world full of ill-favoured children. +’Tis not her glass but you that flatters her, +And out of you she sees herself more proper +Than any of her lineaments can show her. +But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees, +And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man’s love. +For I must tell you friendly in your ear, +Sell when you can; you are not for all markets. +Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer; +Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer. +So take her to thee, shepherd. Fare you well. + +PHOEBE. +Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together! +I had rather hear you chide than this man woo. + +ROSALIND. +He’s fall’n in love with your foulness, and she’ll fall in love with my +anger. If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, +I’ll sauce her with bitter words. Why look you so upon me? + +PHOEBE. +For no ill will I bear you. + +ROSALIND. +I pray you do not fall in love with me, +For I am falser than vows made in wine. +Besides, I like you not. If you will know my house, +’Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by. +Will you go, sister? Shepherd, ply her hard. +Come, sister. Shepherdess, look on him better, +And be not proud. Though all the world could see, +None could be so abused in sight as he. +Come, to our flock. + +[_Exeunt Rosalind, Celia and Corin._] + +PHOEBE. +Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might: +“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” + +SILVIUS. +Sweet Phoebe— + +PHOEBE. +Ha, what sayst thou, Silvius? + +SILVIUS. +Sweet Phoebe, pity me. + +PHOEBE. +Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. + +SILVIUS. +Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. +If you do sorrow at my grief in love, +By giving love your sorrow and my grief +Were both extermined. + +PHOEBE. +Thou hast my love. Is not that neighbourly? + +SILVIUS. +I would have you. + +PHOEBE. +Why, that were covetousness. +Silvius, the time was that I hated thee; +And yet it is not that I bear thee love; +But since that thou canst talk of love so well, +Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, +I will endure, and I’ll employ thee too. +But do not look for further recompense +Than thine own gladness that thou art employed. + +SILVIUS. +So holy and so perfect is my love, +And I in such a poverty of grace, +That I shall think it a most plenteous crop +To glean the broken ears after the man +That the main harvest reaps. Loose now and then +A scattered smile, and that I’ll live upon. + +PHOEBE. +Know’st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile? + +SILVIUS. +Not very well, but I have met him oft, +And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds +That the old carlot once was master of. + +PHOEBE. +Think not I love him, though I ask for him. +’Tis but a peevish boy—yet he talks well. +But what care I for words? Yet words do well +When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. +It is a pretty youth—not very pretty— +But sure he’s proud, and yet his pride becomes him. +He’ll make a proper man. The best thing in him +Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue +Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. +He is not very tall, yet for his years he’s tall; +His leg is but so-so, and yet ’tis well. +There was a pretty redness in his lip, +A little riper and more lusty red +Than that mixed in his cheek. ’Twas just the difference +Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. +There be some women, Silvius, had they marked him +In parcels as I did, would have gone near +To fall in love with him; but for my part +I love him not nor hate him not; and yet +I have more cause to hate him than to love him. +For what had he to do to chide at me? +He said mine eyes were black and my hair black, +And now I am remembered, scorned at me. +I marvel why I answered not again. +But that’s all one: omittance is no quittance. +I’ll write to him a very taunting letter, +And thou shalt bear it. Wilt thou, Silvius? + +SILVIUS. +Phoebe, with all my heart. + +PHOEBE. +I’ll write it straight, +The matter’s in my head and in my heart. +I will be bitter with him and passing short. +Go with me, Silvius. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. The Forest of Arden + + +Enter Rosalind, Celia and Jaques. + +JAQUES. +I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. + +ROSALIND. +They say you are a melancholy fellow. + +JAQUES. +I am so; I do love it better than laughing. + +ROSALIND. +Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and +betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards. + +JAQUES. +Why, ’tis good to be sad and say nothing. + +ROSALIND. +Why then, ’tis good to be a post. + +JAQUES. +I have neither the scholar’s melancholy, which is emulation; nor the +musician’s, which is fantastical; nor the courtier’s, which is proud; +nor the soldier’s, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer’s, which is +politic; nor the lady’s, which is nice; nor the lover’s, which is all +these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, +extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my +travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous +sadness. + +ROSALIND. +A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. I fear you +have sold your own lands to see other men’s. Then to have seen much and +to have nothing is to have rich eyes and poor hands. + +JAQUES. +Yes, I have gained my experience. + +ROSALIND. +And your experience makes you sad. I had rather have a fool to make me +merry than experience to make me sad—and to travel for it too. + +Enter Orlando. + +ORLANDO. +Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! + +JAQUES. +Nay, then, God be wi’ you, an you talk in blank verse. + +ROSALIND. +Farewell, Monsieur Traveller. Look you lisp and wear strange suits; +disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your +nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are, +or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. + +[_Exit Jaques._] + +Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover! +An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. + +ORLANDO. +My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. + +ROSALIND. +Break an hour’s promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a +thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousand part of a minute +in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped +him o’ the shoulder, but I’ll warrant him heart-whole. + +ORLANDO. +Pardon me, dear Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight. I had as lief be +wooed of a snail. + +ORLANDO. +Of a snail? + +ROSALIND. +Ay, of a snail, for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his +head—a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman. Besides, he +brings his destiny with him. + +ORLANDO. +What’s that? + +ROSALIND. +Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives +for. But he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his +wife. + +ORLANDO. +Virtue is no horn-maker and my Rosalind is virtuous. + +ROSALIND. +And I am your Rosalind. + +CELIA. +It pleases him to call you so, but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer +than you. + +ROSALIND. +Come, woo me, woo me, for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough +to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were your very, very +Rosalind? + +ORLANDO. +I would kiss before I spoke. + +ROSALIND. +Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravelled for lack +of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when +they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking—God warn +us—matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. + +ORLANDO. +How if the kiss be denied? + +ROSALIND. +Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. + +ORLANDO. +Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? + +ROSALIND. +Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my +honesty ranker than my wit. + +ORLANDO. +What, of my suit? + +ROSALIND. +Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your +Rosalind? + +ORLANDO. +I take some joy to say you are because I would be talking of her. + +ROSALIND. +Well, in her person, I say I will not have you. + +ORLANDO. +Then, in mine own person, I die. + +ROSALIND. +No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years +old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, +_videlicet_, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a +Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of +the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year +though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer +night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont +and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish +chroniclers of that age found it was Hero of Sestos. But these are all +lies. Men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but +not for love. + +ORLANDO. +I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for I protest her +frown might kill me. + +ROSALIND. +By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your +Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition, and ask me what you will, I +will grant it. + +ORLANDO. +Then love me, Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all. + +ORLANDO. +And wilt thou have me? + +ROSALIND. +Ay, and twenty such. + +ORLANDO. +What sayest thou? + +ROSALIND. +Are you not good? + +ORLANDO. +I hope so. + +ROSALIND. +Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?—Come, sister, you +shall be the priest and marry us.—Give me your hand, Orlando.—What do +you say, sister? + +ORLANDO. +Pray thee, marry us. + +CELIA. +I cannot say the words. + +ROSALIND. +You must begin “Will you, Orlando—” + + +CELIA. +Go to.—Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind? + +ORLANDO. +I will. + +ROSALIND. +Ay, but when? + +ORLANDO. +Why now, as fast as she can marry us. + +ROSALIND. +Then you must say “I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.” + +ORLANDO. +I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. + +ROSALIND. +I might ask you for your commission. But I do take thee, Orlando, for +my husband. There’s a girl goes before the priest, and certainly a +woman’s thought runs before her actions. + +ORLANDO. +So do all thoughts. They are winged. + +ROSALIND. +Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her. + +ORLANDO. +For ever and a day. + +ROSALIND. +Say “a day” without the “ever.” No, no, Orlando, men are April when +they woo, December when they wed. Maids are May when they are maids, +but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee +than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen, more clamorous than a parrot +against rain, more new-fangled than an ape, more giddy in my desires +than a monkey. I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and +I will do that when you are disposed to be merry. I will laugh like a +hyena, and that when thou are inclined to sleep. + +ORLANDO. +But will my Rosalind do so? + +ROSALIND. +By my life, she will do as I do. + +ORLANDO. +O, but she is wise. + +ROSALIND. +Or else she could not have the wit to do this. The wiser, the +waywarder. Make the doors upon a woman’s wit, and it will out at the +casement. Shut that, and ’twill out at the keyhole. Stop that, ’twill +fly with the smoke out at the chimney. + +ORLANDO. +A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, “Wit, whither +wilt?” + +ROSALIND. +Nay, you might keep that check for it till you met your wife’s wit +going to your neighbour’s bed. + +ORLANDO. +And what wit could wit have to excuse that? + +ROSALIND. +Marry, to say she came to seek you there. You shall never take her +without her answer unless you take her without her tongue. O, that +woman that cannot make her fault her husband’s occasion, let her never +nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool. + +ORLANDO. +For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. + +ROSALIND. +Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. + +ORLANDO. +I must attend the Duke at dinner. By two o’clock I will be with thee +again. + +ROSALIND. +Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would prove. My friends +told me as much, and I thought no less. That flattering tongue of yours +won me. ’Tis but one cast away, and so, come death! Two o’clock is your +hour? + +ORLANDO. +Ay, sweet Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty +oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise or +come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical +break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her +you call Rosalind that may be chosen out of the gross band of the +unfaithful. Therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. + +ORLANDO. +With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind. So, adieu. + +ROSALIND. +Well, Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let +time try. Adieu. + +[_Exit Orlando._] + +CELIA. +You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate! We must have your +doublet and hose plucked over your head and show the world what the +bird hath done to her own nest. + +ROSALIND. +O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many +fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath +an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal. + +CELIA. +Or rather, bottomless, that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs +out. + +ROSALIND. +No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, +conceived of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rascally boy that +abuses everyone’s eyes because his own are out, let him be judge how +deep I am in love. I’ll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight +of Orlando. I’ll go find a shadow and sigh till he come. + +CELIA. +And I’ll sleep. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Jaques and Lords, like foresters. + +JAQUES. +Which is he that killed the deer? + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, it was I. + +JAQUES. +Let’s present him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror, and it would do +well to set the deer’s horns upon his head for a branch of victory. +Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? + +SECOND LORD. +Yes, sir. + +JAQUES. +Sing it. ’Tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough. + +SONG + +SECOND LORD. +[_Sings_.] + What shall he have that killed the deer? + His leather skin and horns to wear. + Then sing him home: + [_The rest shall bear this burden_.] + Take thou no scorn to wear the horn. + It was a crest ere thou wast born. + Thy father’s father wore it + And thy father bore it. + The horn, the horn, the lusty horn + Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Rosalind and Celia. + +ROSALIND. +How say you now? Is it not past two o’clock? And here much Orlando. + +CELIA. +I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain he hath ta’en his bow +and arrows and is gone forth to sleep. + +Enter Silvius. + +Look who comes here. + +SILVIUS. +My errand is to you, fair youth. +My gentle Phoebe did bid me give you this. + +[_Giving a letter._] + +I know not the contents, but, as I guess +By the stern brow and waspish action +Which she did use as she was writing of it, +It bears an angry tenor. Pardon me, +I am but as a guiltless messenger. + +ROSALIND. +Patience herself would startle at this letter +And play the swaggerer. Bear this, bear all! +She says I am not fair, that I lack manners; +She calls me proud, and that she could not love me, +Were man as rare as phoenix. ’Od’s my will, +Her love is not the hare that I do hunt. +Why writes she so to me? Well, shepherd, well, +This is a letter of your own device. + +SILVIUS. +No, I protest, I know not the contents. +Phoebe did write it. + +ROSALIND. +Come, come, you are a fool, +And turned into the extremity of love. +I saw her hand. She has a leathern hand, +A freestone-coloured hand. I verily did think +That her old gloves were on, but ’twas her hands. +She has a huswife’s hand—but that’s no matter. +I say she never did invent this letter; +This is a man’s invention, and his hand. + +SILVIUS. +Sure, it is hers. + +ROSALIND. +Why, ’tis a boisterous and a cruel style, +A style for challengers. Why, she defies me, +Like Turk to Christian. Women’s gentle brain +Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, +Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect +Than in their countenance. Will you hear the letter? + +SILVIUS. +So please you, for I never heard it yet, +Yet heard too much of Phoebe’s cruelty. + +ROSALIND. +She Phoebes me. Mark how the tyrant writes. + +[_Reads._] + + _Art thou god to shepherd turned, + That a maiden’s heart hath burned?_ +Can a woman rail thus? + +SILVIUS. +Call you this railing? + +ROSALIND. + _Why, thy godhead laid apart, + Warr’st thou with a woman’s heart?_ +Did you ever hear such railing? + _Whiles the eye of man did woo me, + That could do no vengeance to me._ +Meaning me a beast. + _If the scorn of your bright eyne + Have power to raise such love in mine, + Alack, in me what strange effect + Would they work in mild aspect? + Whiles you chid me, I did love, + How then might your prayers move? + He that brings this love to thee + Little knows this love in me; + And by him seal up thy mind, + Whether that thy youth and kind + Will the faithful offer take + Of me, and all that I can make, + Or else by him my love deny, + And then I’ll study how to die._ + +SILVIUS. +Call you this chiding? + +CELIA. +Alas, poor shepherd. + +ROSALIND. +Do you pity him? No, he deserves no pity.—Wilt thou love such a woman? +What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee? Not +to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee +a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to +love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat +for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word, for here comes +more company. + +[_Exit Silvius._] + +Enter Oliver. + +OLIVER. +Good morrow, fair ones. Pray you, if you know, +Where in the purlieus of this forest stands +A sheepcote fenced about with olive trees? + +CELIA. +West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom; +The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, +Left on your right hand, brings you to the place. +But at this hour the house doth keep itself. +There’s none within. + +OLIVER. +If that an eye may profit by a tongue, +Then should I know you by description, +Such garments, and such years. “The boy is fair, +Of female favour, and bestows himself +Like a ripe sister; the woman low, +And browner than her brother.” Are not you +The owner of the house I did inquire for? + +CELIA. +It is no boast, being asked, to say we are. + +OLIVER. +Orlando doth commend him to you both, +And to that youth he calls his Rosalind +He sends this bloody napkin. Are you he? + +ROSALIND. +I am. What must we understand by this? + +OLIVER. +Some of my shame, if you will know of me +What man I am, and how, and why, and where +This handkerchief was stained. + +CELIA. +I pray you tell it. + +OLIVER. +When last the young Orlando parted from you, +He left a promise to return again +Within an hour, and pacing through the forest, +Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy, +Lo, what befell. He threw his eye aside, +And mark what object did present itself. +Under an oak, whose boughs were mossed with age +And high top bald with dry antiquity, +A wretched ragged man, o’ergrown with hair, +Lay sleeping on his back; about his neck +A green and gilded snake had wreathed itself, +Who with her head, nimble in threats, approached +The opening of his mouth. But suddenly, +Seeing Orlando, it unlinked itself +And with indented glides did slip away +Into a bush; under which bush’s shade +A lioness, with udders all drawn dry, +Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch +When that the sleeping man should stir. For ’tis +The royal disposition of that beast +To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. +This seen, Orlando did approach the man +And found it was his brother, his elder brother. + +CELIA. +O, I have heard him speak of that same brother, +And he did render him the most unnatural +That lived amongst men. + +OLIVER. +And well he might so do, +For well I know he was unnatural. + +ROSALIND. +But, to Orlando: did he leave him there, +Food to the sucked and hungry lioness? + +OLIVER. +Twice did he turn his back and purposed so; +But kindness, nobler ever than revenge, +And nature, stronger than his just occasion, +Made him give battle to the lioness, +Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling +From miserable slumber I awaked. + +CELIA. +Are you his brother? + +ROSALIND. +Was it you he rescued? + +CELIA. +Was’t you that did so oft contrive to kill him? + +OLIVER. +’Twas I; but ’tis not I. I do not shame +To tell you what I was, since my conversion +So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am. + +ROSALIND. +But, for the bloody napkin? + +OLIVER. +By and by. +When from the first to last betwixt us two +Tears our recountments had most kindly bathed— +As how I came into that desert place— +In brief, he led me to the gentle Duke, +Who gave me fresh array and entertainment, +Committing me unto my brother’s love, +Who led me instantly unto his cave, +There stripped himself, and here upon his arm +The lioness had torn some flesh away, +Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, +And cried in fainting upon Rosalind. +Brief, I recovered him, bound up his wound, +And after some small space, being strong at heart, +He sent me hither, stranger as I am, +To tell this story, that you might excuse +His broken promise, and to give this napkin, +Dyed in his blood, unto the shepherd youth +That he in sport doth call his Rosalind. + +[_Rosalind faints._] + +CELIA. +Why, how now, Ganymede, sweet Ganymede! + +OLIVER. +Many will swoon when they do look on blood. + +CELIA. +There is more in it. Cousin—Ganymede! + +OLIVER. +Look, he recovers. + +ROSALIND. +I would I were at home. + +CELIA. +We’ll lead you thither. +I pray you, will you take him by the arm? + +OLIVER. +Be of good cheer, youth. You a man? You lack a man’s heart. + +ROSALIND. +I do so, I confess it. Ah, sirrah, a body would think this was well +counterfeited. I pray you tell your brother how well I counterfeited. +Heigh-ho. + +OLIVER. +This was not counterfeit. There is too great testimony in your +complexion that it was a passion of earnest. + +ROSALIND. +Counterfeit, I assure you. + +OLIVER. +Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man. + +ROSALIND. +So I do. But, i’ faith, I should have been a woman by right. + +CELIA. +Come, you look paler and paler. Pray you draw homewards. Good sir, go +with us. + +OLIVER. +That will I, for I must bear answer back +How you excuse my brother, Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +I shall devise something. But I pray you commend my counterfeiting to +him. Will you go? + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. The Forest of Arden + + +Enter Touchstone and Audrey. + +TOUCHSTONE. +We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey. + +AUDREY. +Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman’s saying. + +TOUCHSTONE. +A most wicked Sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Martext. But Audrey, +there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you. + +AUDREY. +Ay, I know who ’tis. He hath no interest in me in the world. + +Enter William. + +Here comes the man you mean. + +TOUCHSTONE. +It is meat and drink to me to see a clown. By my troth, we that have +good wits have much to answer for. We shall be flouting; we cannot +hold. + +WILLIAM. +Good ev’n, Audrey. + +AUDREY. +God ye good ev’n, William. + +WILLIAM. +And good ev’n to you, sir. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Good ev’n, gentle friend. Cover thy head, cover thy head. Nay, prithee, +be covered. How old are you, friend? + +WILLIAM. +Five-and-twenty, sir. + +TOUCHSTONE. +A ripe age. Is thy name William? + +WILLIAM. +William, sir. + +TOUCHSTONE. +A fair name. Wast born i’ th’ forest here? + +WILLIAM. +Ay, sir, I thank God. + +TOUCHSTONE. +“Thank God.” A good answer. Art rich? + +WILLIAM. +Faith, sir, so-so. + +TOUCHSTONE. +“So-so” is good, very good, very excellent good. And yet it is not, it +is but so-so. Art thou wise? + +WILLIAM. +Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Why, thou sayst well. I do now remember a saying: “The fool doth think +he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” The heathen +philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips +when he put it into his mouth, meaning thereby that grapes were made to +eat and lips to open. You do love this maid? + +WILLIAM. +I do, sir. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Give me your hand. Art thou learned? + +WILLIAM. +No, sir. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Then learn this of me: to have is to have. For it is a figure in +rhetoric that drink, being poured out of cup into a glass, by filling +the one doth empty the other. For all your writers do consent that +_ipse_ is “he.” Now, you are not _ipse_, for I am he. + +WILLIAM. +Which he, sir? + +TOUCHSTONE. +He, sir, that must marry this woman. Therefore, you clown, +abandon—which is in the vulgar, “leave”—the society—which in the +boorish is “company”—of this female—which in the common is “woman”; +which together is, abandon the society of this female, or, clown, thou +perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; or, to wit, I kill +thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into +bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel. +I will bandy with thee in faction; will o’errun thee with policy. I +will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways! Therefore tremble and depart. + +AUDREY. +Do, good William. + +WILLIAM. +God rest you merry, sir. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter Corin. + +CORIN. +Our master and mistress seek you. Come away, away. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey! I attend, I attend. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Orlando and Oliver. + +ORLANDO. +Is’t possible that on so little acquaintance you should like her? That +but seeing, you should love her? And loving woo? And wooing, she should +grant? And will you persever to enjoy her? + +OLIVER. +Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the +small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting. But +say with me, I love Aliena; say with her that she loves me; consent +with both that we may enjoy each other. It shall be to your good, for +my father’s house and all the revenue that was old Sir Rowland’s will I +estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd. + +Enter Rosalind. + +ORLANDO. +You have my consent. Let your wedding be tomorrow. Thither will I +invite the Duke and all’s contented followers. Go you and prepare +Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +God save you, brother. + +OLIVER. +And you, fair sister. + +[_Exit._] + +ROSALIND. +O my dear Orlando, how it grieves me to see thee wear thy heart in a +scarf! + +ORLANDO. +It is my arm. + +ROSALIND. +I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion. + +ORLANDO. +Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. + +ROSALIND. +Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon when he showed +me your handkercher? + +ORLANDO. +Ay, and greater wonders than that. + +ROSALIND. +O, I know where you are. Nay, ’tis true. There was never anything so +sudden but the fight of two rams, and Caesar’s thrasonical brag of “I +came, saw and overcame.” For your brother and my sister no sooner met +but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved; no sooner loved but +they sighed; no sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason; no +sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy; and in these degrees +have they made pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb +incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage. They are in the +very wrath of love, and they will together. Clubs cannot part them. + +ORLANDO. +They shall be married tomorrow, and I will bid the Duke to the nuptial. +But O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another +man’s eyes! By so much the more shall I tomorrow be at the height of +heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy in having +what he wishes for. + +ROSALIND. +Why, then, tomorrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind? + +ORLANDO. +I can live no longer by thinking. + +ROSALIND. +I will weary you then no longer with idle talking. Know of me then—for +now I speak to some purpose—that I know you are a gentleman of good +conceit. I speak not this that you should bear a good opinion of my +knowledge, insomuch I say I know you are. Neither do I labour for a +greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, +to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, +that I can do strange things. I have, since I was three year old, +conversed with a magician, most profound in his art and yet not +damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture +cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena shall you marry her. I +know into what straits of fortune she is driven and it is not +impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her +before your eyes tomorrow, human as she is, and without any danger. + +ORLANDO. +Speak’st thou in sober meanings? + +ROSALIND. +By my life, I do, which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician. +Therefore put you in your best array, bid your friends; for if you will +be married tomorrow, you shall, and to Rosalind, if you will. + +Enter Silvius and Phoebe. + +Look, here comes a lover of mine and a lover of hers. + +PHOEBE. +Youth, you have done me much ungentleness +To show the letter that I writ to you. + +ROSALIND. +I care not if I have; it is my study +To seem despiteful and ungentle to you. +You are there followed by a faithful shepherd. +Look upon him, love him; he worships you. + +PHOEBE. +Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’tis to love. + +SILVIUS. +It is to be all made of sighs and tears, +And so am I for Phoebe. + +PHOEBE. +And I for Ganymede. + +ORLANDO. +And I for Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +And I for no woman. + +SILVIUS. +It is to be all made of faith and service, +And so am I for Phoebe. + +PHOEBE. +And I for Ganymede. + +ORLANDO. +And I for Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +And I for no woman. + +SILVIUS. +It is to be all made of fantasy, +All made of passion, and all made of wishes, +All adoration, duty, and observance, +All humbleness, all patience, and impatience, +All purity, all trial, all observance, +And so am I for Phoebe. + +PHOEBE. +And so am I for Ganymede. + +ORLANDO. +And so am I for Rosalind. + +ROSALIND. +And so am I for no woman. + +PHOEBE. +[_To Rosalind_.] If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + +SILVIUS. +[_To Phoebe_.] If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + +ORLANDO. +If this be so, why blame you me to love you? + +ROSALIND. +Why do you speak too, “Why blame you me to love you?” + +ORLANDO. +To her that is not here, nor doth not hear. + +ROSALIND. +Pray you, no more of this, ’tis like the howling of Irish wolves +against the moon. +[_to Silvius_.] I will help you if I can. +[_to Phoebe_.] I would love you if I could.—Tomorrow meet me all +together. +[_to Phoebe_.] I will marry you, if ever I marry woman, and I’ll be +married tomorrow. +[_to Orlando_.] I will satisfy you if ever I satisfied man, and you +shall be married tomorrow. +[_to Silvius_.] I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, +and you shall be married tomorrow. +[_to Orlando_.] As you love Rosalind, meet. +[_to Silvius_.] As you love Phoebe, meet.—And as I love no woman, I’ll +meet. So fare you well. I have left you commands. + +SILVIUS. +I’ll not fail, if I live. + +PHOEBE. +Nor I. + +ORLANDO. +Nor I. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Touchstone and Audrey. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Tomorrow is the joyful day, Audrey, tomorrow will we be married. + +AUDREY. +I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire +to desire to be a woman of the world. + +Enter two Pages. + +Here come two of the banished Duke’s pages. + +FIRST PAGE. +Well met, honest gentleman. + +TOUCHSTONE. +By my troth, well met. Come sit, sit, and a song. + +SECOND PAGE. +We are for you, sit i’ th’ middle. + +FIRST PAGE. +Shall we clap into’t roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we +are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice? + +SECOND PAGE. +I’faith, i’faith, and both in a tune like two gipsies on a horse. + + SONG + +PAGES. +[_Sing_.] + It was a lover and his lass, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + That o’er the green cornfield did pass + In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + Between the acres of the rye, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + These pretty country folks would lie, + In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + This carol they began that hour, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + How that a life was but a flower, + In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + + And therefore take the present time, + With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, + For love is crowned with the prime, + In the spring-time, the only pretty ring time, + When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding. + Sweet lovers love the spring. + +TOUCHSTONE +Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, +yet the note was very untuneable. + +FIRST PAGE. +You are deceived, sir, we kept time, we lost not our time. + +TOUCHSTONE. +By my troth, yes. I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. +God be wi’ you, and God mend your voices. Come, Audrey. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Another part of the Forest + +Enter Duke Senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver and Celia. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy +Can do all this that he hath promised? + +ORLANDO. +I sometimes do believe and sometimes do not, +As those that fear they hope, and know they fear. + +Enter Rosalind, Silvius and Phoebe. + +ROSALIND. +Patience once more whiles our compact is urged. +[_To the Duke._] You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, +You will bestow her on Orlando here? + +DUKE SENIOR. +That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Orlando_.] And you say you will have her when I bring her? + +ORLANDO. +That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Phoebe_.] You say you’ll marry me if I be willing? + +PHOEBE. +That will I, should I die the hour after. + +ROSALIND. +But if you do refuse to marry me, +You’ll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? + +PHOEBE. +So is the bargain. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Silvius_.] You say that you’ll have Phoebe if she will? + +SILVIUS. +Though to have her and death were both one thing. + +ROSALIND. +I have promised to make all this matter even. +Keep you your word, O Duke, to give your daughter, +You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter. +Keep your word, Phoebe, that you’ll marry me, +Or else, refusing me, to wed this shepherd. +Keep your word, Silvius, that you’ll marry her +If she refuse me. And from hence I go +To make these doubts all even. + +[_Exeunt Rosalind and Celia._] + +DUKE SENIOR. +I do remember in this shepherd boy +Some lively touches of my daughter’s favour. + +ORLANDO. +My lord, the first time that I ever saw him +Methought he was a brother to your daughter. +But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born +And hath been tutored in the rudiments +Of many desperate studies by his uncle, +Whom he reports to be a great magician, +Obscured in the circle of this forest. + +Enter Touchstone and Audrey. + +JAQUES. +There is sure another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the +ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are +called fools. + +TOUCHSTONE. +Salutation and greeting to you all. + +JAQUES. +Good my lord, bid him welcome. This is the motley-minded gentleman that +I have so often met in the forest. He hath been a courtier, he swears. + +TOUCHSTONE. +If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a +measure; I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, +smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four +quarrels, and like to have fought one. + +JAQUES. +And how was that ta’en up? + +TOUCHSTONE. +Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause. + +JAQUES. +How seventh cause?—Good my lord, like this fellow? + +DUKE SENIOR. +I like him very well. + +TOUCHSTONE. +God ’ild you, sir, I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, +amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and to forswear +according as marriage binds and blood breaks. A poor virgin, sir, an +ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to +take that that no man else will. Rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, +in a poor house, as your pearl in your foul oyster. + +DUKE SENIOR. +By my faith, he is very swift and sententious. + +TOUCHSTONE. +According to the fool’s bolt, sir, and such dulcet diseases. + +JAQUES. +But, for the seventh cause. How did you find the quarrel on the seventh +cause? + +TOUCHSTONE. +Upon a lie seven times removed—bear your body more seeming, Audrey—as +thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier’s beard. He sent +me word if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it +was. This is called the “retort courteous”. If I sent him word again it +was not well cut, he would send me word he cut it to please himself. +This is called the “quip modest”. If again it was not well cut, he +disabled my judgement. This is called the “reply churlish”. If again it +was not well cut, he would answer I spake not true. This is called the +“reproof valiant”. If again it was not well cut, he would say I lie. +This is called the “countercheck quarrelsome”, and so, to the “lie +circumstantial”, and the “lie direct”. + +JAQUES. +And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut? + +TOUCHSTONE. +I durst go no further than the lie circumstantial, nor he durst not +give me the lie direct; and so we measured swords and parted. + +JAQUES. +Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie? + +TOUCHSTONE. +O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book, as you have books for good +manners. I will name you the degrees: the first, the retort courteous; +the second, the quip modest; the third, the reply churlish; the fourth, +the reproof valiant; the fifth, the countercheck quarrelsome; the +sixth, the lie with circumstance; the seventh, the lie direct. All +these you may avoid but the lie direct and you may avoid that too with +an “if”. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but +when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an +“if”, as, “if you said so, then I said so;” and they shook hands, and +swore brothers. Your “if” is the only peacemaker; much virtue in “if.” + +JAQUES. +Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? He’s as good at anything, and yet a +fool. + +DUKE SENIOR. +He uses his folly like a stalking-horse, and under the presentation of +that he shoots his wit. + +Enter Hymen, Rosalind in woman’s clothes, and Celia. Still music. + +HYMEN. + Then is there mirth in heaven + When earthly things made even + Atone together. + Good Duke, receive thy daughter. + Hymen from heaven brought her, + Yea, brought her hither, + That thou mightst join her hand with his, + Whose heart within his bosom is. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Duke Senior_.] To you I give myself, for I am yours. +[_To Orlando_.] To you I give myself, for I am yours. + +DUKE SENIOR. +If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter. + +ORLANDO. +If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. + +PHOEBE. +If sight and shape be true, +Why then, my love adieu. + +ROSALIND. +[_To Duke Senior_.] I’ll have no father, if you be not he. +[_To Orlando_.] I’ll have no husband, if you be not he. +[_To Phoebe_.] Nor ne’er wed woman, if you be not she. + +HYMEN. + Peace, ho! I bar confusion. + ’Tis I must make conclusion + Of these most strange events. + Here’s eight that must take hands + To join in Hymen’s bands, + If truth holds true contents. +[_To Orlando and Rosalind_.] You and you no cross shall part. +[_To Celia and Oliver_.] You and you are heart in heart. +[_To Phoebe_.] You to his love must accord +Or have a woman to your lord. +[_To Audrey and Touchstone_.] You and you are sure together +As the winter to foul weather. +Whiles a wedlock hymn we sing, +Feed yourselves with questioning, +That reason wonder may diminish +How thus we met, and these things finish. + + SONG + Wedding is great Juno’s crown, + O blessed bond of board and bed. + ’Tis Hymen peoples every town, + High wedlock then be honoured. + Honour, high honour, and renown + To Hymen, god of every town. + +DUKE SENIOR. +O my dear niece, welcome thou art to me +Even daughter, welcome in no less degree. + +PHOEBE. +[_To Silvius_.] I will not eat my word, now thou art mine, +Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine. + +Enter Jaques de Boys. + +JAQUES DE BOYS. +Let me have audience for a word or two. +I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, +That bring these tidings to this fair assembly. +Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day +Men of great worth resorted to this forest, +Addressed a mighty power, which were on foot +In his own conduct, purposely to take +His brother here and put him to the sword; +And to the skirts of this wild wood he came, +Where, meeting with an old religious man, +After some question with him, was converted +Both from his enterprise and from the world, +His crown bequeathing to his banished brother, +And all their lands restored to them again +That were with him exiled. This to be true +I do engage my life. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Welcome, young man. +Thou offer’st fairly to thy brother’s wedding: +To one his lands withheld, and to the other +A land itself at large, a potent dukedom. +First, in this forest let us do those ends +That here were well begun and well begot; +And after, every of this happy number +That have endured shrewd days and nights with us +Shall share the good of our returned fortune, +According to the measure of their states. +Meantime, forget this new-fall’n dignity, +And fall into our rustic revelry. +Play, music! And you brides and bridegrooms all, +With measure heaped in joy to th’ measures fall. + +JAQUES. +Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly, +The Duke hath put on a religious life +And thrown into neglect the pompous court. + +JAQUES DE BOYS. +He hath. + +JAQUES. +To him will I. Out of these convertites +There is much matter to be heard and learned. +[_To Duke Senior_.] You to your former honour I bequeath; +Your patience and your virtue well deserves it. +[_To Orlando_.] You to a love that your true faith doth merit. +[_To Oliver_.] You to your land, and love, and great allies. +[_To Silvius_.] You to a long and well-deserved bed. +[_To Touchstone_.] And you to wrangling, for thy loving voyage +Is but for two months victualled.—So to your pleasures, +I am for other than for dancing measures. + +DUKE SENIOR. +Stay, Jaques, stay. + +JAQUES. +To see no pastime, I. What you would have +I’ll stay to know at your abandoned cave. + +[_Exit._] + +DUKE SENIOR. +Proceed, proceed! We will begin these rites, +As we do trust they’ll end, in true delights. + +[_Dance. Exeunt all but Rosalind._] + +EPILOGUE + +ROSALIND. +It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue, but it is no more +unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good +wine needs no bush, ’tis true that a good play needs no epilogue. Yet +to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better +by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am +neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of +a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar; therefore to beg will +not become me. My way is to conjure you, and I’ll begin with the women. +I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of +this play as please you. And I charge you, O men, for the love you bear +to women—as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them—that +between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman, I +would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions +that liked me, and breaths that I defied not. And I am sure as many as +have good beards, or good faces, or sweet breaths will for my kind +offer, when I make curtsy, bid me farewell. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +THE COMEDY OF ERRORS + + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. A hall in the Duke’s palace +Scene II. A public place + +ACT II +Scene I. A public place +Scene II. The same + +ACT III +Scene I. The same +Scene II. The same + +ACT IV +Scene I. The same +Scene II. The same +Scene III. The same +Scene IV. The same + +ACT V +Scene I. The same + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +SOLINUS, Duke of Ephesus. +EGEON, a Merchant of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS, Twin brothers and sons to Egeon and +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE, Emilia, but unknown to each other. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS, Twin brothers, and attendants on +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE, the two Antipholuses. + +BALTHASAR, a Merchant. +ANGELO, a Goldsmith. +A MERCHANT, friend to Antipholus of Syracuse. +PINCH, a Schoolmaster and a Conjurer. +EMILIA, Wife to Egeon, an Abbess at Ephesus. +ADRIANA, Wife to Antipholus of Ephesus. +LUCIANA, her Sister. +LUCE, her Servant. +A COURTESAN +Messenger, Jailer, Officers, Attendants + +SCENE: Ephesus + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. A hall in the Duke’s palace + + Enter Duke, Egeon, Jailer, Officers and other Attendants. + +EGEON. +Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall, +And by the doom of death end woes and all. + +DUKE. +Merchant of Syracusa, plead no more. +I am not partial to infringe our laws. +The enmity and discord which of late +Sprung from the rancorous outrage of your Duke +To merchants, our well-dealing countrymen, +Who, wanting guilders to redeem their lives, +Have seal’d his rigorous statutes with their bloods, +Excludes all pity from our threat’ning looks. +For since the mortal and intestine jars +’Twixt thy seditious countrymen and us, +It hath in solemn synods been decreed, +Both by the Syracusians and ourselves, +To admit no traffic to our adverse towns; +Nay more, if any born at Ephesus +Be seen at Syracusian marts and fairs; +Again, if any Syracusian born +Come to the bay of Ephesus, he dies, +His goods confiscate to the Duke’s dispose, +Unless a thousand marks be levied +To quit the penalty and to ransom him. +Thy substance, valued at the highest rate, +Cannot amount unto a hundred marks; +Therefore by law thou art condemn’d to die. + +EGEON. +Yet this my comfort; when your words are done, +My woes end likewise with the evening sun. + +DUKE. +Well, Syracusian, say in brief the cause +Why thou departedst from thy native home, +And for what cause thou cam’st to Ephesus. + +EGEON. +A heavier task could not have been impos’d +Than I to speak my griefs unspeakable; +Yet, that the world may witness that my end +Was wrought by nature, not by vile offence, +I’ll utter what my sorrow gives me leave. +In Syracusa was I born, and wed +Unto a woman happy but for me, +And by me, had not our hap been bad. +With her I liv’d in joy; our wealth increas’d +By prosperous voyages I often made +To Epidamnum, till my factor’s death, +And the great care of goods at random left, +Drew me from kind embracements of my spouse; +From whom my absence was not six months old +Before herself (almost at fainting under +The pleasing punishment that women bear) +Had made provision for her following me, +And soon and safe arrived where I was. +There had she not been long but she became +A joyful mother of two goodly sons, +And, which was strange, the one so like the other +As could not be distinguish’d but by names. +That very hour, and in the self-same inn, +A mean woman was delivered +Of such a burden, male twins, both alike. +Those, for their parents were exceeding poor, +I bought, and brought up to attend my sons. +My wife, not meanly proud of two such boys, +Made daily motions for our home return. +Unwilling I agreed; alas, too soon +We came aboard. +A league from Epidamnum had we sail’d +Before the always-wind-obeying deep +Gave any tragic instance of our harm; +But longer did we not retain much hope; +For what obscured light the heavens did grant +Did but convey unto our fearful minds +A doubtful warrant of immediate death, +Which though myself would gladly have embrac’d, +Yet the incessant weepings of my wife, +Weeping before for what she saw must come, +And piteous plainings of the pretty babes, +That mourn’d for fashion, ignorant what to fear, +Forc’d me to seek delays for them and me. +And this it was (for other means was none). +The sailors sought for safety by our boat, +And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us. +My wife, more careful for the latter-born, +Had fast’ned him unto a small spare mast, +Such as sea-faring men provide for storms. +To him one of the other twins was bound, +Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. +The children thus dispos’d, my wife and I, +Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix’d, +Fast’ned ourselves at either end the mast, +And, floating straight, obedient to the stream, +Was carried towards Corinth, as we thought. +At length the sun, gazing upon the earth, +Dispers’d those vapours that offended us, +And by the benefit of his wished light +The seas wax’d calm, and we discovered +Two ships from far, making amain to us, +Of Corinth that, of Epidaurus this. +But ere they came—O, let me say no more! +Gather the sequel by that went before. + +DUKE. +Nay, forward, old man, do not break off so, +For we may pity, though not pardon thee. + +EGEON. +O, had the gods done so, I had not now +Worthily term’d them merciless to us. +For, ere the ships could meet by twice five leagues, +We were encountered by a mighty rock, +Which being violently borne upon, +Our helpful ship was splitted in the midst; +So that, in this unjust divorce of us, +Fortune had left to both of us alike +What to delight in, what to sorrow for. +Her part, poor soul, seeming as burdened +With lesser weight, but not with lesser woe, +Was carried with more speed before the wind, +And in our sight they three were taken up +By fishermen of Corinth, as we thought. +At length another ship had seiz’d on us; +And, knowing whom it was their hap to save, +Gave healthful welcome to their ship-wrack’d guests, +And would have reft the fishers of their prey, +Had not their bark been very slow of sail; +And therefore homeward did they bend their course. +Thus have you heard me sever’d from my bliss, +That by misfortunes was my life prolong’d +To tell sad stories of my own mishaps. + +DUKE. +And for the sake of them thou sorrowest for, +Do me the favour to dilate at full +What have befall’n of them and thee till now. + +EGEON. +My youngest boy, and yet my eldest care, +At eighteen years became inquisitive +After his brother, and importun’d me +That his attendant, so his case was like, +Reft of his brother, but retain’d his name, +Might bear him company in the quest of him; +Whom whilst I laboured of a love to see, +I hazarded the loss of whom I lov’d. +Five summers have I spent in farthest Greece, +Roaming clean through the bounds of Asia, +And, coasting homeward, came to Ephesus, +Hopeless to find, yet loath to leave unsought +Or that or any place that harbours men. +But here must end the story of my life; +And happy were I in my timely death, +Could all my travels warrant me they live. + +DUKE. +Hapless Egeon, whom the fates have mark’d +To bear the extremity of dire mishap; +Now, trust me, were it not against our laws, +Against my crown, my oath, my dignity, +Which princes, would they, may not disannul, +My soul should sue as advocate for thee. +But though thou art adjudged to the death, +And passed sentence may not be recall’d +But to our honour’s great disparagement, +Yet will I favour thee in what I can. +Therefore, merchant, I’ll limit thee this day +To seek thy health by beneficial help. +Try all the friends thou hast in Ephesus; +Beg thou, or borrow, to make up the sum, +And live; if no, then thou art doom’d to die. +Jailer, take him to thy custody. + +JAILER. +I will, my lord. + +EGEON. +Hopeless and helpless doth Egeon wend, +But to procrastinate his lifeless end. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A public place + + Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Syracuse and a Merchant. + +MERCHANT. +Therefore give out you are of Epidamnum, +Lest that your goods too soon be confiscate. +This very day a Syracusian merchant +Is apprehended for arrival here, +And, not being able to buy out his life, +According to the statute of the town +Dies ere the weary sun set in the west. +There is your money that I had to keep. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, +And stay there, Dromio, till I come to thee. +Within this hour it will be dinnertime; +Till that, I’ll view the manners of the town, +Peruse the traders, gaze upon the buildings, +And then return and sleep within mine inn, +For with long travel I am stiff and weary. +Get thee away. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Many a man would take you at your word, +And go indeed, having so good a mean. + + [_Exit Dromio._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, +When I am dull with care and melancholy, +Lightens my humour with his merry jests. +What, will you walk with me about the town, +And then go to my inn and dine with me? + +MERCHANT. +I am invited, sir, to certain merchants, +Of whom I hope to make much benefit. +I crave your pardon. Soon, at five o’clock, +Please you, I’ll meet with you upon the mart, +And afterward consort you till bedtime. +My present business calls me from you now. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Farewell till then: I will go lose myself, +And wander up and down to view the city. + +MERCHANT. +Sir, I commend you to your own content. + + [_Exit Merchant._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +He that commends me to mine own content +Commends me to the thing I cannot get. +I to the world am like a drop of water +That in the ocean seeks another drop, +Who, failing there to find his fellow forth, +Unseen, inquisitive, confounds himself. +So I, to find a mother and a brother, +In quest of them, unhappy, lose myself. + + Enter Dromio of Ephesus. + +Here comes the almanac of my true date. +What now? How chance thou art return’d so soon? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Return’d so soon? rather approach’d too late. +The capon burns, the pig falls from the spit; +The clock hath strucken twelve upon the bell; +My mistress made it one upon my cheek. +She is so hot because the meat is cold; +The meat is cold because you come not home; +You come not home because you have no stomach; +You have no stomach, having broke your fast; +But we that know what ’tis to fast and pray, +Are penitent for your default today. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Stop in your wind, sir, tell me this, I pray: +Where have you left the money that I gave you? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +O, sixpence that I had o’ Wednesday last +To pay the saddler for my mistress’ crupper: +The saddler had it, sir, I kept it not. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I am not in a sportive humour now. +Tell me, and dally not, where is the money? +We being strangers here, how dar’st thou trust +So great a charge from thine own custody? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I pray you jest, sir, as you sit at dinner: +I from my mistress come to you in post; +If I return, I shall be post indeed, +For she will score your fault upon my pate. +Methinks your maw, like mine, should be your clock, +And strike you home without a messenger. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Come, Dromio, come, these jests are out of season, +Reserve them till a merrier hour than this. +Where is the gold I gave in charge to thee? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +To me, sir? why, you gave no gold to me! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Come on, sir knave, have done your foolishness, +And tell me how thou hast dispos’d thy charge. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +My charge was but to fetch you from the mart +Home to your house, the Phoenix, sir, to dinner. +My mistress and her sister stay for you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Now, as I am a Christian, answer me +In what safe place you have bestow’d my money, +Or I shall break that merry sconce of yours +That stands on tricks when I am undispos’d; +Where is the thousand marks thou hadst of me? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I have some marks of yours upon my pate, +Some of my mistress’ marks upon my shoulders, +But not a thousand marks between you both. +If I should pay your worship those again, +Perchance you will not bear them patiently. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thy mistress’ marks? what mistress, slave, hast thou? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Your worship’s wife, my mistress at the Phoenix; +She that doth fast till you come home to dinner, +And prays that you will hie you home to dinner. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What, wilt thou flout me thus unto my face, +Being forbid? There, take you that, sir knave. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +What mean you, sir? for God’s sake hold your hands. +Nay, an you will not, sir, I’ll take my heels. + + [_Exit Dromio._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Upon my life, by some device or other +The villain is o’er-raught of all my money. +They say this town is full of cozenage, +As nimble jugglers that deceive the eye, +Dark-working sorcerers that change the mind, +Soul-killing witches that deform the body, +Disguised cheaters, prating mountebanks, +And many such-like liberties of sin: +If it prove so, I will be gone the sooner. +I’ll to the Centaur to go seek this slave. +I greatly fear my money is not safe. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A public place + + Enter Adriana, wife to Antipholus (of Ephesus) with Luciana her + sister. + +ADRIANA. +Neither my husband nor the slave return’d +That in such haste I sent to seek his master? +Sure, Luciana, it is two o’clock. + +LUCIANA. +Perhaps some merchant hath invited him, +And from the mart he’s somewhere gone to dinner. +Good sister, let us dine, and never fret; +A man is master of his liberty; +Time is their master, and when they see time, +They’ll go or come. If so, be patient, sister. + +ADRIANA. +Why should their liberty than ours be more? + +LUCIANA. +Because their business still lies out o’ door. + +ADRIANA. +Look when I serve him so, he takes it ill. + +LUCIANA. +O, know he is the bridle of your will. + +ADRIANA. +There’s none but asses will be bridled so. + +LUCIANA. +Why, headstrong liberty is lash’d with woe. +There’s nothing situate under heaven’s eye +But hath his bound in earth, in sea, in sky. +The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls +Are their males’ subjects, and at their controls. +Man, more divine, the masters of all these, +Lord of the wide world and wild wat’ry seas, +Indued with intellectual sense and souls, +Of more pre-eminence than fish and fowls, +Are masters to their females, and their lords: +Then let your will attend on their accords. + +ADRIANA. +This servitude makes you to keep unwed. + +LUCIANA. +Not this, but troubles of the marriage-bed. + +ADRIANA. +But, were you wedded, you would bear some sway. + +LUCIANA. +Ere I learn love, I’ll practise to obey. + +ADRIANA. +How if your husband start some other where? + +LUCIANA. +Till he come home again, I would forbear. + +ADRIANA. +Patience unmov’d! No marvel though she pause; +They can be meek that have no other cause. +A wretched soul bruis’d with adversity, +We bid be quiet when we hear it cry; +But were we burd’ned with like weight of pain, +As much, or more, we should ourselves complain: +So thou, that hast no unkind mate to grieve thee, +With urging helpless patience would relieve me: +But if thou live to see like right bereft, +This fool-begg’d patience in thee will be left. + +LUCIANA. +Well, I will marry one day, but to try. +Here comes your man, now is your husband nigh. + + Enter Dromio of Ephesus. + +ADRIANA. +Say, is your tardy master now at hand? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, he’s at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness. + +ADRIANA. +Say, didst thou speak with him? know’st thou his mind? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear. +Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it. + +LUCIANA. +Spake he so doubtfully thou couldst not feel his meaning? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, he struck so plainly I could too well feel his blows; and withal +so doubtfully that I could scarce understand them. + +ADRIANA. +But say, I prithee, is he coming home? +It seems he hath great care to please his wife. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad. + +ADRIANA. +Horn-mad, thou villain? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I mean not cuckold-mad, +But sure he’s stark mad. +When I desir’d him to come home to dinner, +He ask’d me for a thousand marks in gold. +“’Tis dinner time,” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he. +“Your meat doth burn” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he. +“Will you come home?” quoth I. “My gold,” quoth he. +“Where is the thousand marks I gave thee, villain?” +“The pig” quoth I “is burn’d”. “My gold,” quoth he. +“My mistress, sir,” quoth I. “Hang up thy mistress; +I know not thy mistress; out on thy mistress!” + +LUCIANA. +Quoth who? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Quoth my master. +“I know,” quoth he, “no house, no wife, no mistress.” +So that my errand, due unto my tongue, +I thank him, I bare home upon my shoulders; +For, in conclusion, he did beat me there. + +ADRIANA. +Go back again, thou slave, and fetch him home. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Go back again, and be new beaten home? +For God’s sake, send some other messenger. + +ADRIANA. +Back slave, or I will break thy pate across. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +And he will bless that cross with other beating. +Between you I shall have a holy head. + +ADRIANA. +Hence, prating peasant. Fetch thy master home. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Am I so round with you, as you with me, +That like a football you do spurn me thus? +You spurn me hence, and he will spurn me hither. +If I last in this service, you must case me in leather. + + [_Exit._] + +LUCIANA. +Fie, how impatience loureth in your face. + +ADRIANA. +His company must do his minions grace, +Whilst I at home starve for a merry look. +Hath homely age th’ alluring beauty took +From my poor cheek? then he hath wasted it. +Are my discourses dull? barren my wit? +If voluble and sharp discourse be marr’d, +Unkindness blunts it more than marble hard. +Do their gay vestments his affections bait? +That’s not my fault; he’s master of my state. +What ruins are in me that can be found +By him not ruin’d? Then is he the ground +Of my defeatures. My decayed fair +A sunny look of his would soon repair; +But, too unruly deer, he breaks the pale +And feeds from home; poor I am but his stale. + +LUCIANA. +Self-harming jealousy! fie, beat it hence. + +ADRIANA. +Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. +I know his eye doth homage otherwhere, +Or else what lets it but he would be here? +Sister, you know he promis’d me a chain; +Would that alone, a love he would detain, +So he would keep fair quarter with his bed. +I see the jewel best enamelled +Will lose his beauty; yet the gold bides still +That others touch, yet often touching will +Wear gold; and no man that hath a name +By falsehood and corruption doth it shame. +Since that my beauty cannot please his eye, +I’ll weep what’s left away, and weeping die. + +LUCIANA. +How many fond fools serve mad jealousy! + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +The gold I gave to Dromio is laid up +Safe at the Centaur, and the heedful slave +Is wander’d forth in care to seek me out. +By computation and mine host’s report. +I could not speak with Dromio since at first +I sent him from the mart. See, here he comes. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +How now, sir! is your merry humour alter’d? +As you love strokes, so jest with me again. +You know no Centaur? you receiv’d no gold? +Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? +My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad, +That thus so madly thou didst answer me? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +What answer, sir? when spake I such a word? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Even now, even here, not half an hour since. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I did not see you since you sent me hence, +Home to the Centaur with the gold you gave me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Villain, thou didst deny the gold’s receipt, +And told’st me of a mistress and a dinner, +For which I hope thou felt’st I was displeas’d. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I am glad to see you in this merry vein. +What means this jest, I pray you, master, tell me? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Yea, dost thou jeer and flout me in the teeth? +Think’st thou I jest? Hold, take thou that, and that. + + [_Beats Dromio._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Hold, sir, for God’s sake, now your jest is earnest. +Upon what bargain do you give it me? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Because that I familiarly sometimes +Do use you for my fool, and chat with you, +Your sauciness will jest upon my love, +And make a common of my serious hours. +When the sun shines let foolish gnats make sport, +But creep in crannies when he hides his beams. +If you will jest with me, know my aspect, +And fashion your demeanour to my looks, +Or I will beat this method in your sconce. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Sconce, call you it? so you would leave battering, I had rather have it +a head. And you use these blows long, I must get a sconce for my head, +and ensconce it too, or else I shall seek my wit in my shoulders. But I +pray, sir, why am I beaten? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Dost thou not know? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nothing, sir, but that I am beaten. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Shall I tell you why? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, sir, and wherefore; for they say, every why hath a wherefore. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, first, for flouting me; and then wherefore, +For urging it the second time to me. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Was there ever any man thus beaten out of season, +When in the why and the wherefore is neither rhyme nor reason? +Well, sir, I thank you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thank me, sir, for what? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, for this something that you gave me for nothing. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I’ll make you amends next, to give you nothing for something. +But say, sir, is it dinner-time? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, sir; I think the meat wants that I have. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +In good time, sir, what’s that? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Basting. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Well, sir, then ’twill be dry. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +If it be, sir, I pray you eat none of it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Your reason? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Lest it make you choleric, and purchase me another dry basting. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Well, sir, learn to jest in good time. +There’s a time for all things. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I durst have denied that before you were so choleric. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +By what rule, sir? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, by a rule as plain as the plain bald pate of Father Time +himself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Let’s hear it. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +There’s no time for a man to recover his hair that grows bald by +nature. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +May he not do it by fine and recovery? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Yes, to pay a fine for a periwig, and recover the lost hair of another +man. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why is Time such a niggard of hair, being, as it is, so plentiful an +excrement? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Because it is a blessing that he bestows on beasts, and what he hath +scanted men in hair he hath given them in wit. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, but there’s many a man hath more hair than wit. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not a man of those but he hath the wit to lose his hair. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, thou didst conclude hairy men plain dealers without wit. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +The plainer dealer, the sooner lost. Yet he loseth it in a kind of +jollity. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +For what reason? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +For two, and sound ones too. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, not sound, I pray you. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Sure ones, then. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, not sure, in a thing falsing. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Certain ones, then. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Name them. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +The one, to save the money that he spends in tiring; the other, that at +dinner they should not drop in his porridge. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +You would all this time have proved there is no time for all things. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, and did, sir; namely, e’en no time to recover hair lost by +nature. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +But your reason was not substantial why there is no time to recover. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Thus I mend it: Time himself is bald, and therefore, to the world’s end +will have bald followers. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I knew ’twould be a bald conclusion. +But soft! who wafts us yonder? + + Enter Adriana and Luciana. + +ADRIANA. +Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown, +Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects. +I am not Adriana, nor thy wife. +The time was once when thou unurg’d wouldst vow +That never words were music to thine ear, +That never object pleasing in thine eye, +That never touch well welcome to thy hand, +That never meat sweet-savour’d in thy taste, +Unless I spake, or look’d, or touch’d, or carv’d to thee. +How comes it now, my husband, O, how comes it, +That thou art then estranged from thyself? +Thyself I call it, being strange to me, +That, undividable, incorporate, +Am better than thy dear self’s better part. +Ah, do not tear away thyself from me; +For know, my love, as easy mayst thou fall +A drop of water in the breaking gulf, +And take unmingled thence that drop again +Without addition or diminishing, +As take from me thyself, and not me too. +How dearly would it touch thee to the quick, +Should’st thou but hear I were licentious? +And that this body, consecrate to thee, +By ruffian lust should be contaminate? +Wouldst thou not spit at me, and spurn at me, +And hurl the name of husband in my face, +And tear the stain’d skin off my harlot brow, +And from my false hand cut the wedding-ring, +And break it with a deep-divorcing vow? +I know thou canst; and therefore, see thou do it. +I am possess’d with an adulterate blot; +My blood is mingled with the crime of lust; +For if we two be one, and thou play false, +I do digest the poison of thy flesh, +Being strumpeted by thy contagion. +Keep then fair league and truce with thy true bed, +I live distain’d, thou undishonoured. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Plead you to me, fair dame? I know you not. +In Ephesus I am but two hours old, +As strange unto your town as to your talk, +Who, every word by all my wit being scann’d, +Wants wit in all one word to understand. + +LUCIANA. +Fie, brother, how the world is chang’d with you. +When were you wont to use my sister thus? +She sent for you by Dromio home to dinner. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +By Dromio? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +By me? + +ADRIANA. +By thee; and this thou didst return from him, +That he did buffet thee, and in his blows +Denied my house for his, me for his wife. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Did you converse, sir, with this gentlewoman? +What is the course and drift of your compact? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I, sir? I never saw her till this time. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Villain, thou liest, for even her very words +Didst thou deliver to me on the mart. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I never spake with her in all my life. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +How can she thus, then, call us by our names? +Unless it be by inspiration. + +ADRIANA. +How ill agrees it with your gravity +To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, +Abetting him to thwart me in my mood; +Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, +But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. +Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine. +Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, +Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, +Makes me with thy strength to communicate: +If aught possess thee from me, it is dross, +Usurping ivy, brier, or idle moss, +Who all, for want of pruning, with intrusion +Infect thy sap, and live on thy confusion. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +To me she speaks; she moves me for her theme. +What, was I married to her in my dream? +Or sleep I now, and think I hear all this? +What error drives our eyes and ears amiss? +Until I know this sure uncertainty +I’ll entertain the offer’d fallacy. + +LUCIANA. +Dromio, go bid the servants spread for dinner. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, for my beads! I cross me for a sinner. +This is the fairy land; O spite of spites! +We talk with goblins, owls, and sprites; +If we obey them not, this will ensue: +They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue. + +LUCIANA. +Why prat’st thou to thyself, and answer’st not? +Dromio, thou drone, thou snail, thou slug, thou sot. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I am transformed, master, am I not? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I think thou art in mind, and so am I. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, master, both in mind and in my shape. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thou hast thine own form. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, I am an ape. + +LUCIANA. +If thou art chang’d to aught, ’tis to an ass. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +’Tis true; she rides me, and I long for grass. +’Tis so, I am an ass; else it could never be +But I should know her as well as she knows me. + +ADRIANA. +Come, come, no longer will I be a fool, +To put the finger in the eye and weep +Whilst man and master laughs my woes to scorn. +Come, sir, to dinner; Dromio, keep the gate. +Husband, I’ll dine above with you today, +And shrive you of a thousand idle pranks. +Sirrah, if any ask you for your master, +Say he dines forth, and let no creature enter. +Come, sister; Dromio, play the porter well. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Am I in earth, in heaven, or in hell? +Sleeping or waking, mad, or well-advis’d? +Known unto these, and to myself disguis’d! +I’ll say as they say, and persever so, +And in this mist at all adventures go. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, shall I be porter at the gate? + +ADRIANA. +Ay; and let none enter, lest I break your pate. + +LUCIANA. +Come, come, Antipholus, we dine too late. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. The same + + Enter Antipholus of Ephesus, his man Dromio of Ephesus, Angelo the + goldsmith and Balthasar the merchant. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Good Signior Angelo, you must excuse us all, +My wife is shrewish when I keep not hours. +Say that I linger’d with you at your shop +To see the making of her carcanet, +And that tomorrow you will bring it home. +But here’s a villain that would face me down. +He met me on the mart, and that I beat him, +And charg’d him with a thousand marks in gold, +And that I did deny my wife and house. +Thou drunkard, thou, what didst thou mean by this? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Say what you will, sir, but I know what I know. +That you beat me at the mart I have your hand to show; +If the skin were parchment, and the blows you gave were ink, +Your own handwriting would tell you what I think. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I think thou art an ass. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Marry, so it doth appear +By the wrongs I suffer and the blows I bear. +I should kick, being kick’d; and being at that pass, +You would keep from my heels, and beware of an ass. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You’re sad, Signior Balthasar; pray God our cheer +May answer my good will and your good welcome here. + +BALTHASAR. +I hold your dainties cheap, sir, and your welcome dear. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +O, Signior Balthasar, either at flesh or fish +A table full of welcome makes scarce one dainty dish. + +BALTHASAR. +Good meat, sir, is common; that every churl affords. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And welcome more common, for that’s nothing but words. + +BALTHASAR +Small cheer and great welcome makes a merry feast. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Ay, to a niggardly host and more sparing guest. +But though my cates be mean, take them in good part; +Better cheer may you have, but not with better heart. +But soft; my door is lock’d. Go bid them let us in. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Maud, Bridget, Marian, Cicely, Gillian, Ginn! + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +[_Within._] Mome, malt-horse, capon, coxcomb, idiot, patch! +Either get thee from the door or sit down at the hatch: +Dost thou conjure for wenches, that thou call’st for such store +When one is one too many? Go, get thee from the door. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +What patch is made our porter? My master stays in the street. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Let him walk from whence he came, lest he catch cold on’s feet. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Who talks within there? Ho, open the door. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Right, sir, I’ll tell you when an you’ll tell me wherefore. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Wherefore? For my dinner. I have not dined today. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nor today here you must not; come again when you may. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +What art thou that keep’st me out from the house I owe? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +The porter for this time, sir, and my name is Dromio. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +O villain, thou hast stolen both mine office and my name; +The one ne’er got me credit, the other mickle blame. +If thou hadst been Dromio today in my place, +Thou wouldst have chang’d thy face for a name, or thy name for an ass. + + Enter Luce concealed from Antipholus of Ephesus and his companions. + +LUCE. +[_Within._] What a coil is there, Dromio, who are those at the gate? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Let my master in, Luce. + +LUCE. +Faith, no, he comes too late, +And so tell your master. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +O Lord, I must laugh; +Have at you with a proverb:—Shall I set in my staff? + +LUCE. +Have at you with another: that’s—When? can you tell? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +If thy name be called Luce,—Luce, thou hast answer’d him well. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Do you hear, you minion? you’ll let us in, I hope? + +LUCE. +I thought to have ask’d you. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +And you said no. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +So, come, help. Well struck, there was blow for blow. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou baggage, let me in. + +LUCE. +Can you tell for whose sake? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Master, knock the door hard. + +LUCE. +Let him knock till it ache. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You’ll cry for this, minion, if I beat the door down. + +LUCE. +What needs all that, and a pair of stocks in the town? + + Enter Adriana concealed from Antipholus of Ephesus and his companions. + +ADRIANA. +[_Within._] Who is that at the door that keeps all this noise? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +By my troth, your town is troubled with unruly boys. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Are you there, wife? you might have come before. + +ADRIANA. +Your wife, sir knave? go, get you from the door. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +If you went in pain, master, this knave would go sore. + +ANGELO. +Here is neither cheer, sir, nor welcome. We would fain have either. + +BALTHASAR. +In debating which was best, we shall part with neither. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +They stand at the door, master; bid them welcome hither. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +There is something in the wind, that we cannot get in. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +You would say so, master, if your garments were thin. +Your cake here is warm within; you stand here in the cold. +It would make a man mad as a buck to be so bought and sold. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Go, fetch me something, I’ll break ope the gate. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Break any breaking here, and I’ll break your knave’s pate. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +A man may break a word with you, sir, and words are but wind; +Ay, and break it in your face, so he break it not behind. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +It seems thou want’st breaking; out upon thee, hind! + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Here’s too much “out upon thee”; I pray thee, let me in. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, when fowls have no feathers and fish have no fin. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Well, I’ll break in; go, borrow me a crow. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +A crow without feather; master, mean you so? +For a fish without a fin, there’s a fowl without a feather. +If a crow help us in, sirrah, we’ll pluck a crow together. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Go, get thee gone; fetch me an iron crow. + +BALTHASAR. +Have patience, sir. O, let it not be so: +Herein you war against your reputation, +And draw within the compass of suspect +The unviolated honour of your wife. +Once this,—your long experience of her wisdom, +Her sober virtue, years, and modesty, +Plead on her part some cause to you unknown; +And doubt not, sir, but she will well excuse +Why at this time the doors are made against you. +Be rul’d by me; depart in patience, +And let us to the Tiger all to dinner, +And about evening, come yourself alone +To know the reason of this strange restraint. +If by strong hand you offer to break in +Now in the stirring passage of the day, +A vulgar comment will be made of it; +And that supposed by the common rout +Against your yet ungalled estimation +That may with foul intrusion enter in, +And dwell upon your grave when you are dead; +For slander lives upon succession, +For ever hous’d where it gets possession. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You have prevail’d. I will depart in quiet, +And, in despite of mirth, mean to be merry. +I know a wench of excellent discourse, +Pretty and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle; +There will we dine. This woman that I mean, +My wife (but, I protest, without desert) +Hath oftentimes upbraided me withal; +To her will we to dinner.—Get you home +And fetch the chain, by this I know ’tis made. +Bring it, I pray you, to the Porpentine, +For there’s the house. That chain will I bestow +(Be it for nothing but to spite my wife) +Upon mine hostess there. Good sir, make haste. +Since mine own doors refuse to entertain me, +I’ll knock elsewhere, to see if they’ll disdain me. + +ANGELO. +I’ll meet you at that place some hour hence. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Do so; this jest shall cost me some expense. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same + + Enter Luciana with Antipholus of Syracuse. + +LUCIANA. +And may it be that you have quite forgot +A husband’s office? Shall, Antipholus, +Even in the spring of love, thy love-springs rot? +Shall love, in building, grow so ruinous? +If you did wed my sister for her wealth, +Then for her wealth’s sake use her with more kindness; +Or if you like elsewhere, do it by stealth, +Muffle your false love with some show of blindness. +Let not my sister read it in your eye; +Be not thy tongue thy own shame’s orator; +Look sweet, speak fair, become disloyalty; +Apparel vice like virtue’s harbinger; +Bear a fair presence though your heart be tainted; +Teach sin the carriage of a holy saint, +Be secret-false. What need she be acquainted? +What simple thief brags of his own attaint? +’Tis double wrong to truant with your bed +And let her read it in thy looks at board. +Shame hath a bastard fame, well managed; +Ill deeds is doubled with an evil word. +Alas, poor women, make us but believe, +Being compact of credit, that you love us. +Though others have the arm, show us the sleeve; +We in your motion turn, and you may move us. +Then, gentle brother, get you in again; +Comfort my sister, cheer her, call her wife. +’Tis holy sport to be a little vain +When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Sweet mistress, what your name is else, I know not, +Nor by what wonder you do hit on mine; +Less in your knowledge and your grace you show not +Than our earth’s wonder, more than earth divine. +Teach me, dear creature, how to think and speak; +Lay open to my earthy gross conceit, +Smother’d in errors, feeble, shallow, weak, +The folded meaning of your words’ deceit. +Against my soul’s pure truth why labour you +To make it wander in an unknown field? +Are you a god? would you create me new? +Transform me, then, and to your power I’ll yield. +But if that I am I, then well I know +Your weeping sister is no wife of mine, +Nor to her bed no homage do I owe. +Far more, far more, to you do I decline. +O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note +To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears. +Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote; +Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs, +And as a bed I’ll take thee, and there lie, +And, in that glorious supposition think +He gains by death that hath such means to die. +Let love, being light, be drowned if she sink! + +LUCIANA. +What, are you mad, that you do reason so? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Not mad, but mated; how, I do not know. + +LUCIANA. +It is a fault that springeth from your eye. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +For gazing on your beams, fair sun, being by. + +LUCIANA. +Gaze where you should, and that will clear your sight. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +As good to wink, sweet love, as look on night. + +LUCIANA. +Why call you me love? Call my sister so. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thy sister’s sister. + +LUCIANA. +That’s my sister. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +No, +It is thyself, mine own self’s better part, +Mine eye’s clear eye, my dear heart’s dearer heart, +My food, my fortune, and my sweet hope’s aim, +My sole earth’s heaven, and my heaven’s claim. + +LUCIANA. +All this my sister is, or else should be. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Call thyself sister, sweet, for I aim thee; +Thee will I love, and with thee lead my life; +Thou hast no husband yet, nor I no wife. +Give me thy hand. + +LUCIANA. +O, soft, sir, hold you still; +I’ll fetch my sister to get her goodwill. + + [_Exit Luciana._] + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, how now, Dromio? where runn’st thou so fast? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Do you know me, sir? Am I Dromio? Am I your man? Am I myself? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thou art Dromio, thou art my man, thou art thyself. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I am an ass, I am a woman’s man, and besides myself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What woman’s man? and how besides thyself? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, besides myself, I am due to a woman, one that claims me, +one that haunts me, one that will have me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What claim lays she to thee? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, such claim as you would lay to your horse, and she would +have me as a beast; not that I being a beast she would have me, but +that she being a very beastly creature lays claim to me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What is she? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +A very reverent body; ay, such a one as a man may not speak of without +he say “sir-reverence”. I have but lean luck in the match, and yet is +she a wondrous fat marriage. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +How dost thou mean a “fat marriage”? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, she’s the kitchen wench, and all grease, and I know not +what use to put her to but to make a lamp of her and run from her by +her own light. I warrant her rags and the tallow in them will burn a +Poland winter. If she lives till doomsday, she’ll burn a week longer +than the whole world. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What complexion is she of? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Swart like my shoe, but her face nothing like so clean kept. For why? +she sweats, a man may go overshoes in the grime of it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +That’s a fault that water will mend. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, sir, ’tis in grain; Noah’s flood could not do it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What’s her name? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nell, sir; but her name and three quarters, that’s an ell and three +quarters, will not measure her from hip to hip. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Then she bears some breadth? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No longer from head to foot than from hip to hip. She is spherical, +like a globe. I could find out countries in her. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +In what part of her body stands Ireland? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, sir, in her buttocks; I found it out by the bogs. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where Scotland? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I found it by the barrenness, hard in the palm of the hand. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where France? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +In her forehead; armed and reverted, making war against her hair. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where England? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I looked for the chalky cliffs, but I could find no whiteness in them. +But I guess it stood in her chin, by the salt rheum that ran between +France and it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where Spain? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Faith, I saw it not; but I felt it hot in her breath. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where America, the Indies? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, sir, upon her nose, all o’er-embellished with rubies, carbuncles, +sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain, who +sent whole armadoes of carracks to be ballast at her nose. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Where stood Belgia, the Netherlands? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, sir, I did not look so low. To conclude: this drudge or diviner laid +claim to me, called me Dromio, swore I was assured to her, told me what +privy marks I had about me, as the mark of my shoulder, the mole in my +neck, the great wart on my left arm, that I, amazed, ran from her as a +witch. And, I think, if my breast had not been made of faith, and my +heart of steel, she had transformed me to a curtal dog, and made me +turn i’ the wheel. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Go, hie thee presently, post to the road; +And if the wind blow any way from shore, +I will not harbour in this town tonight. +If any bark put forth, come to the mart, +Where I will walk till thou return to me. +If everyone knows us, and we know none, +’Tis time, I think, to trudge, pack and be gone. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +As from a bear a man would run for life, +So fly I from her that would be my wife. + + [_Exit._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +There’s none but witches do inhabit here, +And therefore ’tis high time that I were hence. +She that doth call me husband, even my soul +Doth for a wife abhor. But her fair sister, +Possess’d with such a gentle sovereign grace, +Of such enchanting presence and discourse, +Hath almost made me traitor to myself. +But lest myself be guilty to self-wrong, +I’ll stop mine ears against the mermaid’s song. + + Enter Angelo with the chain. + +ANGELO. +Master Antipholus. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, that’s my name. + +ANGELO. +I know it well, sir. Lo, here is the chain; +I thought to have ta’en you at the Porpentine, +The chain unfinish’d made me stay thus long. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What is your will that I shall do with this? + +ANGELO. +What please yourself, sir; I have made it for you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Made it for me, sir! I bespoke it not. + +ANGELO. +Not once, nor twice, but twenty times you have. +Go home with it, and please your wife withal, +And soon at supper-time I’ll visit you, +And then receive my money for the chain. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I pray you, sir, receive the money now, +For fear you ne’er see chain nor money more. + +ANGELO. +You are a merry man, sir; fare you well. + + [_Exit._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What I should think of this I cannot tell, +But this I think, there’s no man is so vain +That would refuse so fair an offer’d chain. +I see a man here needs not live by shifts, +When in the streets he meets such golden gifts. +I’ll to the mart, and there for Dromio stay; +If any ship put out, then straight away. + + [_Exit._] + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. The same + + Enter Merchant, Angelo and an Officer. + +MERCHANT. +You know since Pentecost the sum is due, +And since I have not much importun’d you, +Nor now I had not, but that I am bound +To Persia, and want guilders for my voyage; +Therefore make present satisfaction, +Or I’ll attach you by this officer. + +ANGELO. +Even just the sum that I do owe to you +Is growing to me by Antipholus, +And in the instant that I met with you +He had of me a chain; at five o’clock +I shall receive the money for the same. +Pleaseth you walk with me down to his house, +I will discharge my bond, and thank you too. + + Enter Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio of Ephesus from the + Courtesan’s. + +OFFICER. +That labour may you save. See where he comes. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +While I go to the goldsmith’s house, go thou +And buy a rope’s end; that will I bestow +Among my wife and her confederates +For locking me out of my doors by day. +But soft, I see the goldsmith; get thee gone; +Buy thou a rope, and bring it home to me. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I buy a thousand pound a year! I buy a rope! + + [_Exit Dromio._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +A man is well holp up that trusts to you, +I promised your presence and the chain, +But neither chain nor goldsmith came to me. +Belike you thought our love would last too long +If it were chain’d together, and therefore came not. + +ANGELO. +Saving your merry humour, here’s the note +How much your chain weighs to the utmost carat, +The fineness of the gold, and chargeful fashion, +Which doth amount to three odd ducats more +Than I stand debted to this gentleman. +I pray you, see him presently discharg’d, +For he is bound to sea, and stays but for it. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I am not furnished with the present money; +Besides, I have some business in the town. +Good signior, take the stranger to my house, +And with you take the chain, and bid my wife +Disburse the sum on the receipt thereof; +Perchance I will be there as soon as you. + +ANGELO. +Then you will bring the chain to her yourself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +No, bear it with you, lest I come not time enough. + +ANGELO. +Well, sir, I will. Have you the chain about you? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And if I have not, sir, I hope you have, +Or else you may return without your money. + +ANGELO. +Nay, come, I pray you, sir, give me the chain; +Both wind and tide stays for this gentleman, +And I, to blame, have held him here too long. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Good Lord, you use this dalliance to excuse +Your breach of promise to the Porpentine. +I should have chid you for not bringing it, +But, like a shrew, you first begin to brawl. + +MERCHANT. +The hour steals on; I pray you, sir, dispatch. + +ANGELO. +You hear how he importunes me. The chain! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Why, give it to my wife, and fetch your money. + +ANGELO. +Come, come, you know I gave it you even now. +Either send the chain or send by me some token. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Fie, now you run this humour out of breath. +Come, where’s the chain? I pray you, let me see it. + +MERCHANT. +My business cannot brook this dalliance. +Good sir, say whe’er you’ll answer me or no; +If not, I’ll leave him to the officer. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I answer you? What should I answer you? + +ANGELO. +The money that you owe me for the chain. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I owe you none till I receive the chain. + +ANGELO. +You know I gave it you half an hour since. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You gave me none. You wrong me much to say so. + +ANGELO. +You wrong me more, sir, in denying it. +Consider how it stands upon my credit. + +MERCHANT. +Well, officer, arrest him at my suit. + +OFFICER. +I do, and charge you in the duke’s name to obey me. + +ANGELO. +This touches me in reputation. +Either consent to pay this sum for me, +Or I attach you by this officer. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Consent to pay thee that I never had? +Arrest me, foolish fellow, if thou dar’st. + +ANGELO. +Here is thy fee; arrest him, officer. +I would not spare my brother in this case +If he should scorn me so apparently. + +OFFICER. +I do arrest you, sir. You hear the suit. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I do obey thee till I give thee bail. +But, sirrah, you shall buy this sport as dear +As all the metal in your shop will answer. + +ANGELO. +Sir, sir, I shall have law in Ephesus, +To your notorious shame, I doubt it not. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse from the bay. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, there’s a bark of Epidamnum +That stays but till her owner comes aboard, +And then, sir, bears away. Our fraughtage, sir, +I have convey’d aboard, and I have bought +The oil, the balsamum, and aqua-vitae. +The ship is in her trim; the merry wind +Blows fair from land; they stay for nought at all +But for their owner, master, and yourself. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +How now? a madman? Why, thou peevish sheep, +What ship of Epidamnum stays for me? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +A ship you sent me to, to hire waftage. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou drunken slave, I sent thee for a rope, +And told thee to what purpose and what end. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +You sent me for a rope’s end as soon. +You sent me to the bay, sir, for a bark. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I will debate this matter at more leisure, +And teach your ears to list me with more heed. +To Adriana, villain, hie thee straight: +Give her this key, and tell her in the desk +That’s cover’d o’er with Turkish tapestry +There is a purse of ducats; let her send it. +Tell her I am arrested in the street, +And that shall bail me. Hie thee, slave; be gone. +On, officer, to prison till it come. + + [_Exeunt Merchant, Angelo, Officer and Antipholus of Ephesus._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +To Adriana, that is where we din’d, +Where Dowsabel did claim me for her husband. +She is too big, I hope, for me to compass. +Thither I must, although against my will, +For servants must their masters’ minds fulfil. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The same + + Enter Adriana and Luciana. + +ADRIANA. +Ah, Luciana, did he tempt thee so? +Might’st thou perceive austerely in his eye +That he did plead in earnest, yea or no? +Look’d he or red or pale, or sad or merrily? +What observation mad’st thou in this case +Of his heart’s meteors tilting in his face? + +LUCIANA. +First he denied you had in him no right. + +ADRIANA. +He meant he did me none; the more my spite. + +LUCIANA. +Then swore he that he was a stranger here. + +ADRIANA. +And true he swore, though yet forsworn he were. + +LUCIANA. +Then pleaded I for you. + +ADRIANA. +And what said he? + +LUCIANA. +That love I begg’d for you he begg’d of me. + +ADRIANA. +With what persuasion did he tempt thy love? + +LUCIANA. +With words that in an honest suit might move. +First he did praise my beauty, then my speech. + +ADRIANA. +Did’st speak him fair? + +LUCIANA. +Have patience, I beseech. + +ADRIANA. +I cannot, nor I will not hold me still. +My tongue, though not my heart, shall have his will. +He is deformed, crooked, old, and sere, +Ill-fac’d, worse bodied, shapeless everywhere; +Vicious, ungentle, foolish, blunt, unkind, +Stigmatical in making, worse in mind. + +LUCIANA. +Who would be jealous then of such a one? +No evil lost is wail’d when it is gone. + +ADRIANA. +Ah, but I think him better than I say, +And yet would herein others’ eyes were worse: +Far from her nest the lapwing cries away; +My heart prays for him, though my tongue do curse. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Here, go; the desk, the purse, sweet now, make haste. + +LUCIANA. +How hast thou lost thy breath? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +By running fast. + +ADRIANA. +Where is thy master, Dromio? is he well? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, he’s in Tartar limbo, worse than hell. +A devil in an everlasting garment hath him, +One whose hard heart is button’d up with steel; +A fiend, a fairy, pitiless and rough; +A wolf, nay worse, a fellow all in buff; +A back-friend, a shoulder-clapper, one that countermands +The passages of alleys, creeks, and narrow lands; +A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dryfoot well, +One that, before the judgement, carries poor souls to hell. + +ADRIANA. +Why, man, what is the matter? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I do not know the matter. He is ’rested on the case. + +ADRIANA. +What, is he arrested? Tell me at whose suit? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I know not at whose suit he is arrested, well; +But he’s in a suit of buff which ’rested him, that can I tell. +Will you send him, mistress, redemption, the money in his desk? + +ADRIANA. +Go fetch it, sister. This I wonder at, + + [_Exit Luciana._] + +Thus he unknown to me should be in debt. +Tell me, was he arrested on a band? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not on a band, but on a stronger thing; +A chain, a chain. Do you not hear it ring? + +ADRIANA. +What, the chain? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No, no, the bell, ’tis time that I were gone. +It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. + +ADRIANA. +The hours come back! That did I never hear. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O yes, if any hour meet a sergeant, ’a turns back for very fear. + +ADRIANA. +As if time were in debt. How fondly dost thou reason! + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he’s worth to season. +Nay, he’s a thief too. Have you not heard men say +That time comes stealing on by night and day? +If he be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way, +Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day? + + Enter Luciana. + +ADRIANA. +Go, Dromio, there’s the money, bear it straight, +And bring thy master home immediately. +Come, sister, I am press’d down with conceit; +Conceit, my comfort and my injury. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The same + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +There’s not a man I meet but doth salute me +As if I were their well-acquainted friend, +And everyone doth call me by my name. +Some tender money to me, some invite me; +Some other give me thanks for kindnesses; +Some offer me commodities to buy. +Even now a tailor call’d me in his shop, +And show’d me silks that he had bought for me, +And therewithal took measure of my body. +Sure, these are but imaginary wiles, +And Lapland sorcerers inhabit here. + + Enter Dromio of Syracuse. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, here’s the gold you sent me for. +What, have you got the picture of old Adam new apparelled? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What gold is this? What Adam dost thou mean? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not that Adam that kept the paradise, but that Adam that keeps the +prison; he that goes in the calf’s skin that was killed for the +Prodigal; he that came behind you, sir, like an evil angel, and bid you +forsake your liberty. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I understand thee not. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +No? Why, ’tis a plain case: he that went like a bass-viol in a case of +leather; the man, sir, that, when gentlemen are tired, gives them a +sob, and ’rests them; he, sir, that takes pity on decayed men and gives +them suits of durance; he that sets up his rest to do more exploits +with his mace than a morris-pike. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +What! thou mean’st an officer? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Ay, sir, the sergeant of the band; he that brings any man to answer it +that breaks his band; one that thinks a man always going to bed, and +says, “God give you good rest.” + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Well, sir, there rest in your foolery. Is there any ship puts forth +tonight? may we be gone? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the bark _Expedition_ +put forth tonight, and then were you hindered by the sergeant to tarry +for the hoy _Delay_. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver +you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +The fellow is distract, and so am I, +And here we wander in illusions. +Some blessed power deliver us from hence! + + Enter a Courtesan. + +COURTESAN. +Well met, well met, Master Antipholus. +I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now. +Is that the chain you promis’d me today? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, is this Mistress Satan? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +It is the devil. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Nay, she is worse, she is the devil’s dam; and here she comes in the +habit of a light wench, and thereof comes that the wenches say “God +damn me”, that’s as much to say, “God make me a light wench.” It is +written they appear to men like angels of light. Light is an effect of +fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near +her. + +COURTESAN. +Your man and you are marvellous merry, sir. +Will you go with me? We’ll mend our dinner here. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat, or bespeak a long spoon. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Why, Dromio? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Marry, he must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Avoid then, fiend! What tell’st thou me of supping? +Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress. +I conjure thee to leave me and be gone. + +COURTESAN. +Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, +Or, for my diamond, the chain you promis’d, +And I’ll be gone, sir, and not trouble you. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Some devils ask but the paring of one’s nail, +A rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, +A nut, a cherry-stone; but she, more covetous, +Would have a chain. +Master, be wise; and if you give it her, +The devil will shake her chain and fright us with it. + +COURTESAN. +I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain; +I hope you do not mean to cheat me so. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Avaunt, thou witch! Come, Dromio, let us go. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Fly pride, says the peacock. Mistress, that you know. + + [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse._] + +COURTESAN. +Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad, +Else would he never so demean himself. +A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, +And for the same he promis’d me a chain; +Both one and other he denies me now. +The reason that I gather he is mad, +Besides this present instance of his rage, +Is a mad tale he told today at dinner +Of his own doors being shut against his entrance. +Belike his wife, acquainted with his fits, +On purpose shut the doors against his way. +My way is now to hie home to his house, +And tell his wife that, being lunatic, +He rush’d into my house and took perforce +My ring away. This course I fittest choose, +For forty ducats is too much to lose. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. The same + + Enter Antipholus of Ephesus with an Officer. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Fear me not, man, I will not break away: +I’ll give thee ere I leave thee so much money, +To warrant thee, as I am ’rested for. +My wife is in a wayward mood today, +And will not lightly trust the messenger +That I should be attach’d in Ephesus; +I tell you ’twill sound harshly in her ears. + + Enter Dromio of Ephesus with a rope’s end. + +Here comes my man. I think he brings the money. +How now, sir! have you that I sent you for? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Here’s that, I warrant you, will pay them all. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +But where’s the money? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Why, sir, I gave the money for the rope. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Five hundred ducats, villain, for a rope? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I’ll serve you, sir, five hundred at the rate. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +To what end did I bid thee hie thee home? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +To a rope’s end, sir; and to that end am I return’d. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And to that end, sir, I will welcome you. + + [_Beating him._] + +OFFICER. +Good sir, be patient. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, ’tis for me to be patient. I am in adversity. + +OFFICER. +Good now, hold thy tongue. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, rather persuade him to hold his hands. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou whoreson, senseless villain. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I would I were senseless, sir, that I might not feel your blows. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou art sensible in nothing but blows, and so is an ass. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I am an ass indeed; you may prove it by my long ears. I have served him +from the hour of my nativity to this instant, and have nothing at his +hands for my service but blows. When I am cold, he heats me with +beating; when I am warm he cools me with beating. I am waked with it +when I sleep, raised with it when I sit, driven out of doors with it +when I go from home, welcomed home with it when I return. Nay, I bear +it on my shoulders as a beggar wont her brat; and I think when he hath +lamed me, I shall beg with it from door to door. + + Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan and a Schoolmaster called Pinch. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Come, go along, my wife is coming yonder. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Mistress, _respice finem_, respect your end, or rather, the prophesy +like the parrot, “Beware the rope’s end.” + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Wilt thou still talk? + + [_Beats him._] + +COURTESAN. +How say you now? Is not your husband mad? + +ADRIANA. +His incivility confirms no less. +Good Doctor Pinch, you are a conjurer; +Establish him in his true sense again, +And I will please you what you will demand. + +LUCIANA. +Alas, how fiery and how sharp he looks! + +COURTESAN. +Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy. + +PINCH. +Give me your hand, and let me feel your pulse. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +There is my hand, and let it feel your ear. + +PINCH. +I charge thee, Satan, hous’d within this man, +To yield possession to my holy prayers, +And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight. +I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Peace, doting wizard, peace; I am not mad. + +ADRIANA. +O, that thou wert not, poor distressed soul! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +You minion, you, are these your customers? +Did this companion with the saffron face +Revel and feast it at my house today, +Whilst upon me the guilty doors were shut, +And I denied to enter in my house? + +ADRIANA. +O husband, God doth know you din’d at home, +Where would you had remain’d until this time, +Free from these slanders and this open shame. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Din’d at home? Thou villain, what sayest thou? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Sir, sooth to say, you did not dine at home. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Were not my doors lock’d up and I shut out? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Perdy, your doors were lock’d, and you shut out. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And did not she herself revile me there? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Sans fable, she herself revil’d you there. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Did not her kitchen-maid rail, taunt, and scorn me? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Certes, she did, the kitchen-vestal scorn’d you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And did not I in rage depart from thence? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +In verity, you did; my bones bear witness, +That since have felt the vigour of his rage. + +ADRIANA. +Is’t good to soothe him in these contraries? + +PINCH. +It is no shame; the fellow finds his vein, +And yielding to him, humours well his frenzy. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Thou hast suborn’d the goldsmith to arrest me. + +ADRIANA. +Alas! I sent you money to redeem you +By Dromio here, who came in haste for it. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Money by me? Heart and goodwill you might, +But surely, master, not a rag of money. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Went’st not thou to her for a purse of ducats? + +ADRIANA. +He came to me, and I deliver’d it. + +LUCIANA. +And I am witness with her that she did. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +God and the rope-maker bear me witness +That I was sent for nothing but a rope. + +PINCH. +Mistress, both man and master is possess’d, +I know it by their pale and deadly looks. +They must be bound and laid in some dark room. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Say, wherefore didst thou lock me forth today, +And why dost thou deny the bag of gold? + +ADRIANA. +I did not, gentle husband, lock thee forth. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +And gentle master, I receiv’d no gold; +But I confess, sir, that we were lock’d out. + +ADRIANA. +Dissembling villain, thou speak’st false in both. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all, +And art confederate with a damned pack +To make a loathsome abject scorn of me. +But with these nails I’ll pluck out these false eyes +That would behold in me this shameful sport. + + [_Enter three or four, and offer to bind him. He strives. _] + +ADRIANA. +O, bind him, bind him; let him not come near me. + +PINCH. +More company; the fiend is strong within him. + +LUCIANA. +Ay me, poor man, how pale and wan he looks! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +What, will you murder me? Thou jailer, thou, +I am thy prisoner. Wilt thou suffer them +To make a rescue? + +OFFICER. +Masters, let him go. +He is my prisoner, and you shall not have him. + +PINCH. +Go, bind this man, for he is frantic too. + +ADRIANA. +What wilt thou do, thou peevish officer? +Hast thou delight to see a wretched man +Do outrage and displeasure to himself? + +OFFICER. +He is my prisoner. If I let him go, +The debt he owes will be requir’d of me. + +ADRIANA. +I will discharge thee ere I go from thee; +Bear me forthwith unto his creditor, +And knowing how the debt grows, I will pay it. +Good master doctor, see him safe convey’d +Home to my house. O most unhappy day! + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +O most unhappy strumpet! + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Master, I am here enter’d in bond for you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Out on thee, villain! wherefore dost thou mad me? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Will you be bound for nothing? Be mad, good master; cry, “the devil”. + +LUCIANA. +God help, poor souls, how idly do they talk! + +ADRIANA. +Go bear him hence. Sister, go you with me. + + [_Exeunt Pinch and Assistants, with Antipholus of Ephesus and Dromio + of Ephesus._] + +Say now, whose suit is he arrested at? + +OFFICER. +One Angelo, a goldsmith; do you know him? + +ADRIANA. +I know the man. What is the sum he owes? + +OFFICER. +Two hundred ducats. + +ADRIANA. +Say, how grows it due? + +OFFICER. +Due for a chain your husband had of him. + +ADRIANA. +He did bespeak a chain for me, but had it not. + +COURTESAN. +When as your husband, all in rage, today +Came to my house and took away my ring, +The ring I saw upon his finger now, +Straight after did I meet him with a chain. + +ADRIANA. +It may be so, but I did never see it. +Come, jailer, bring me where the goldsmith is, +I long to know the truth hereof at large. + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse with his rapier drawn, and Dromio of + Syracuse. + +LUCIANA. +God, for thy mercy, they are loose again! + +ADRIANA. +And come with naked swords. Let’s call more help +To have them bound again. + +OFFICER. +Away, they’ll kill us. + + [_Exeunt, as fast as may be, frighted._] + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I see these witches are afraid of swords. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +She that would be your wife now ran from you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Come to the Centaur, fetch our stuff from thence. +I long that we were safe and sound aboard. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Faith, stay here this night, they will surely do us no harm; you saw +they speak us fair, give us gold. Methinks they are such a gentle +nation that, but for the mountain of mad flesh that claims marriage of +me, I could find in my heart to stay here still and turn witch. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I will not stay tonight for all the town; +Therefore away, to get our stuff aboard. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. The same + + Enter Merchant and Angelo. + +ANGELO. +I am sorry, sir, that I have hinder’d you, +But I protest he had the chain of me, +Though most dishonestly he doth deny it. + +MERCHANT. +How is the man esteem’d here in the city? + +ANGELO. +Of very reverend reputation, sir, +Of credit infinite, highly belov’d, +Second to none that lives here in the city. +His word might bear my wealth at any time. + +MERCHANT. +Speak softly. Yonder, as I think, he walks. + + Enter Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse. + +ANGELO. +’Tis so; and that self chain about his neck +Which he forswore most monstrously to have. +Good sir, draw near to me, I’ll speak to him. +Signior Antipholus, I wonder much +That you would put me to this shame and trouble, +And not without some scandal to yourself, +With circumstance and oaths so to deny +This chain, which now you wear so openly. +Beside the charge, the shame, imprisonment, +You have done wrong to this my honest friend, +Who, but for staying on our controversy, +Had hoisted sail and put to sea today. +This chain you had of me, can you deny it? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I think I had: I never did deny it. + +MERCHANT. +Yes, that you did, sir, and forswore it too. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Who heard me to deny it or forswear it? + +MERCHANT. +These ears of mine, thou know’st, did hear thee. +Fie on thee, wretch. ’Tis pity that thou liv’st +To walk where any honest men resort. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Thou art a villain to impeach me thus; +I’ll prove mine honour and mine honesty +Against thee presently, if thou dar’st stand. + +MERCHANT. +I dare, and do defy thee for a villain. + + [_They draw._] + + Enter Adriana, Luciana, Courtesan and others. + +ADRIANA. +Hold, hurt him not, for God’s sake, he is mad. +Some get within him, take his sword away. +Bind Dromio too, and bear them to my house. + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Run, master, run, for God’s sake, take a house. +This is some priory; in, or we are spoil’d. + + [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse to the + priory._] + + Enter Lady Abbess. + +ABBESS. +Be quiet, people. Wherefore throng you hither? + +ADRIANA. +To fetch my poor distracted husband hence. +Let us come in, that we may bind him fast +And bear him home for his recovery. + +ANGELO. +I knew he was not in his perfect wits. + +MERCHANT. +I am sorry now that I did draw on him. + +ABBESS. +How long hath this possession held the man? + +ADRIANA. +This week he hath been heavy, sour, sad, +And much different from the man he was. +But till this afternoon his passion +Ne’er brake into extremity of rage. + +ABBESS. +Hath he not lost much wealth by wreck of sea? +Buried some dear friend? Hath not else his eye +Stray’d his affection in unlawful love? +A sin prevailing much in youthful men +Who give their eyes the liberty of gazing? +Which of these sorrows is he subject to? + +ADRIANA. +To none of these, except it be the last, +Namely, some love that drew him oft from home. + +ABBESS. +You should for that have reprehended him. + +ADRIANA. +Why, so I did. + +ABBESS. +Ay, but not rough enough. + +ADRIANA. +As roughly as my modesty would let me. + +ABBESS. +Haply in private. + +ADRIANA. +And in assemblies too. + +ABBESS. +Ay, but not enough. + +ADRIANA. +It was the copy of our conference. +In bed he slept not for my urging it; +At board he fed not for my urging it; +Alone, it was the subject of my theme; +In company I often glanced it; +Still did I tell him it was vile and bad. + +ABBESS. +And thereof came it that the man was mad. +The venom clamours of a jealous woman +Poisons more deadly than a mad dog’s tooth. +It seems his sleeps were hindered by thy railing, +And thereof comes it that his head is light. +Thou say’st his meat was sauc’d with thy upbraidings. +Unquiet meals make ill digestions; +Thereof the raging fire of fever bred, +And what’s a fever but a fit of madness? +Thou say’st his sports were hinder’d by thy brawls. +Sweet recreation barr’d, what doth ensue +But moody and dull melancholy, +Kinsman to grim and comfortless despair, +And at her heels a huge infectious troop +Of pale distemperatures and foes to life? +In food, in sport, and life-preserving rest +To be disturb’d would mad or man or beast. +The consequence is, then, thy jealous fits +Hath scar’d thy husband from the use of’s wits. + +LUCIANA. +She never reprehended him but mildly, +When he demean’d himself rough, rude, and wildly. +Why bear you these rebukes and answer not? + +ADRIANA. +She did betray me to my own reproof. +Good people, enter and lay hold on him. + +ABBESS. +No, not a creature enters in my house. + +ADRIANA. +Then let your servants bring my husband forth. + +ABBESS. +Neither. He took this place for sanctuary, +And it shall privilege him from your hands +Till I have brought him to his wits again, +Or lose my labour in assaying it. + +ADRIANA. +I will attend my husband, be his nurse, +Diet his sickness, for it is my office, +And will have no attorney but myself; +And therefore let me have him home with me. + +ABBESS. +Be patient, for I will not let him stir +Till I have used the approved means I have, +With wholesome syrups, drugs, and holy prayers, +To make of him a formal man again. +It is a branch and parcel of mine oath, +A charitable duty of my order; +Therefore depart, and leave him here with me. + +ADRIANA. +I will not hence and leave my husband here; +And ill it doth beseem your holiness +To separate the husband and the wife. + +ABBESS. +Be quiet and depart. Thou shalt not have him. + + [_Exit Abbess._] + +LUCIANA. +Complain unto the duke of this indignity. + +ADRIANA. +Come, go. I will fall prostrate at his feet, +And never rise until my tears and prayers +Have won his grace to come in person hither +And take perforce my husband from the abbess. + +MERCHANT. +By this, I think, the dial points at five. +Anon, I’m sure, the Duke himself in person +Comes this way to the melancholy vale, +The place of death and sorry execution +Behind the ditches of the abbey here. + +ANGELO. +Upon what cause? + +MERCHANT. +To see a reverend Syracusian merchant, +Who put unluckily into this bay +Against the laws and statutes of this town, +Beheaded publicly for his offence. + +ANGELO. +See where they come. We will behold his death. + +LUCIANA. +Kneel to the Duke before he pass the abbey. + + Enter the Duke, attended; Egeon, bareheaded; with the Headsman and + other Officers. + +DUKE. +Yet once again proclaim it publicly, +If any friend will pay the sum for him, +He shall not die; so much we tender him. + +ADRIANA. +Justice, most sacred duke, against the abbess! + +DUKE. +She is a virtuous and a reverend lady, +It cannot be that she hath done thee wrong. + +ADRIANA. +May it please your grace, Antipholus, my husband, +Who I made lord of me and all I had +At your important letters, this ill day +A most outrageous fit of madness took him; +That desp’rately he hurried through the street, +With him his bondman all as mad as he, +Doing displeasure to the citizens +By rushing in their houses, bearing thence +Rings, jewels, anything his rage did like. +Once did I get him bound and sent him home, +Whilst to take order for the wrongs I went, +That here and there his fury had committed. +Anon, I wot not by what strong escape, +He broke from those that had the guard of him, +And with his mad attendant and himself, +Each one with ireful passion, with drawn swords, +Met us again, and, madly bent on us, +Chased us away; till raising of more aid, +We came again to bind them. Then they fled +Into this abbey, whither we pursued them. +And here the abbess shuts the gates on us, +And will not suffer us to fetch him out, +Nor send him forth that we may bear him hence. +Therefore, most gracious duke, with thy command +Let him be brought forth and borne hence for help. + +DUKE. +Long since thy husband serv’d me in my wars, +And I to thee engag’d a prince’s word, +When thou didst make him master of thy bed, +To do him all the grace and good I could. +Go, some of you, knock at the abbey gate, +And bid the lady abbess come to me. +I will determine this before I stir. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +O mistress, mistress, shift and save yourself. +My master and his man are both broke loose, +Beaten the maids a-row, and bound the doctor, +Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire, +And ever as it blazed they threw on him +Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair. +My master preaches patience to him, and the while +His man with scissors nicks him like a fool; +And sure (unless you send some present help) +Between them they will kill the conjurer. + +ADRIANA. +Peace, fool, thy master and his man are here, +And that is false thou dost report to us. + +MESSENGER. +Mistress, upon my life, I tell you true. +I have not breath’d almost since I did see it. +He cries for you, and vows, if he can take you, +To scorch your face and to disfigure you. + + [_Cry within._] + +Hark, hark, I hear him, mistress. Fly, be gone! + +DUKE. +Come, stand by me, fear nothing. Guard with halberds. + +ADRIANA. +Ay me, it is my husband. Witness you +That he is borne about invisible. +Even now we hous’d him in the abbey here, +And now he’s there, past thought of human reason. + + Enter Antipholus and Dromio of Ephesus. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Justice, most gracious duke; O, grant me justice! +Even for the service that long since I did thee +When I bestrid thee in the wars, and took +Deep scars to save thy life; even for the blood +That then I lost for thee, now grant me justice. + +EGEON. +Unless the fear of death doth make me dote, +I see my son Antipholus and Dromio. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Justice, sweet prince, against that woman there. +She whom thou gav’st to me to be my wife; +That hath abused and dishonour’d me +Even in the strength and height of injury. +Beyond imagination is the wrong +That she this day hath shameless thrown on me. + +DUKE. +Discover how, and thou shalt find me just. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +This day, great duke, she shut the doors upon me +While she with harlots feasted in my house. + +DUKE. +A grievous fault. Say, woman, didst thou so? + +ADRIANA. +No, my good lord. Myself, he, and my sister +Today did dine together. So befall my soul +As this is false he burdens me withal. + +LUCIANA. +Ne’er may I look on day nor sleep on night +But she tells to your highness simple truth. + +ANGELO. +O perjur’d woman! They are both forsworn. +In this the madman justly chargeth them. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +My liege, I am advised what I say, +Neither disturb’d with the effect of wine, +Nor heady-rash, provok’d with raging ire, +Albeit my wrongs might make one wiser mad. +This woman lock’d me out this day from dinner. +That goldsmith there, were he not pack’d with her, +Could witness it, for he was with me then, +Who parted with me to go fetch a chain, +Promising to bring it to the Porpentine, +Where Balthasar and I did dine together. +Our dinner done, and he not coming thither, +I went to seek him. In the street I met him, +And in his company that gentleman. +There did this perjur’d goldsmith swear me down +That I this day of him receiv’d the chain, +Which, God he knows, I saw not. For the which +He did arrest me with an officer. +I did obey, and sent my peasant home +For certain ducats. He with none return’d. +Then fairly I bespoke the officer +To go in person with me to my house. +By th’ way we met +My wife, her sister, and a rabble more +Of vile confederates. Along with them +They brought one Pinch, a hungry lean-faced villain, +A mere anatomy, a mountebank, +A threadbare juggler, and a fortune-teller; +A needy, hollow-ey’d, sharp-looking wretch; +A living dead man. This pernicious slave, +Forsooth, took on him as a conjurer, +And gazing in mine eyes, feeling my pulse, +And with no face (as ’twere) outfacing me, +Cries out, I was possess’d. Then altogether +They fell upon me, bound me, bore me thence, +And in a dark and dankish vault at home +There left me and my man, both bound together, +Till gnawing with my teeth my bonds in sunder, +I gain’d my freedom and immediately +Ran hither to your Grace, whom I beseech +To give me ample satisfaction +For these deep shames and great indignities. + +ANGELO. +My lord, in truth, thus far I witness with him, +That he din’d not at home, but was lock’d out. + +DUKE. +But had he such a chain of thee, or no? + +ANGELO. +He had, my lord, and when he ran in here +These people saw the chain about his neck. + +MERCHANT. +Besides, I will be sworn these ears of mine +Heard you confess you had the chain of him, +After you first forswore it on the mart, +And thereupon I drew my sword on you; +And then you fled into this abbey here, +From whence I think you are come by miracle. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I never came within these abbey walls, +Nor ever didst thou draw thy sword on me. +I never saw the chain, so help me heaven; +And this is false you burden me withal. + +DUKE. +Why, what an intricate impeach is this! +I think you all have drunk of Circe’s cup. +If here you hous’d him, here he would have been. +If he were mad, he would not plead so coldly. +You say he din’d at home, the goldsmith here +Denies that saying. Sirrah, what say you? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Sir, he dined with her there, at the Porpentine. + +COURTESAN. +He did, and from my finger snatch’d that ring. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +’Tis true, my liege, this ring I had of her. + +DUKE. +Saw’st thou him enter at the abbey here? + +COURTESAN. +As sure, my liege, as I do see your grace. + +DUKE. +Why, this is strange. Go call the abbess hither. +I think you are all mated, or stark mad. + + [_Exit one to the Abbess._] + +EGEON. +Most mighty Duke, vouchsafe me speak a word; +Haply I see a friend will save my life +And pay the sum that may deliver me. + +DUKE. +Speak freely, Syracusian, what thou wilt. + +EGEON. +Is not your name, sir, call’d Antipholus? +And is not that your bondman Dromio? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Within this hour I was his bondman, sir, +But he, I thank him, gnaw’d in two my cords. +Now am I Dromio, and his man, unbound. + +EGEON. +I am sure you both of you remember me. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Ourselves we do remember, sir, by you. +For lately we were bound as you are now. +You are not Pinch’s patient, are you, sir? + +EGEON. +Why look you strange on me? you know me well. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I never saw you in my life till now. + +EGEON. +O! grief hath chang’d me since you saw me last, +And careful hours with time’s deformed hand, +Have written strange defeatures in my face. +But tell me yet, dost thou not know my voice? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Neither. + +EGEON. +Dromio, nor thou? + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +No, trust me, sir, nor I. + +EGEON. +I am sure thou dost. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Ay, sir, but I am sure I do not, and whatsoever a man denies, you are +now bound to believe him. + +EGEON. +Not know my voice! O time’s extremity, +Hast thou so crack’d and splitted my poor tongue +In seven short years that here my only son +Knows not my feeble key of untun’d cares? +Though now this grained face of mine be hid +In sap-consuming winter’s drizzled snow, +And all the conduits of my blood froze up, +Yet hath my night of life some memory, +My wasting lamps some fading glimmer left, +My dull deaf ears a little use to hear. +All these old witnesses, I cannot err, +Tell me thou art my son Antipholus. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I never saw my father in my life. + +EGEON. +But seven years since, in Syracusa, boy, +Thou know’st we parted; but perhaps, my son, +Thou sham’st to acknowledge me in misery. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +The duke and all that know me in the city, +Can witness with me that it is not so. +I ne’er saw Syracusa in my life. + +DUKE. +I tell thee, Syracusian, twenty years +Have I been patron to Antipholus, +During which time he ne’er saw Syracusa. +I see thy age and dangers make thee dote. + + Enter the Abbess with Antipholus of Syracuse and Dromio of Syracuse. + +ABBESS. +Most mighty duke, behold a man much wrong’d. + + [_All gather to see them._] + +ADRIANA. +I see two husbands, or mine eyes deceive me. + +DUKE. +One of these men is _genius_ to the other; +And so of these, which is the natural man, +And which the spirit? Who deciphers them? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +I, sir, am Dromio, command him away. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +I, sir, am Dromio, pray let me stay. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +Egeon, art thou not? or else his ghost? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +O, my old master, who hath bound him here? + +ABBESS. +Whoever bound him, I will loose his bonds, +And gain a husband by his liberty. +Speak, old Egeon, if thou be’st the man +That hadst a wife once called Emilia, +That bore thee at a burden two fair sons. +O, if thou be’st the same Egeon, speak, +And speak unto the same Emilia! + +DUKE. +Why, here begins his morning story right: +These two Antipholus’, these two so like, +And these two Dromios, one in semblance, +Besides her urging of her wreck at sea. +These are the parents to these children, +Which accidentally are met together. + +EGEON. +If I dream not, thou art Emilia. +If thou art she, tell me where is that son +That floated with thee on the fatal raft? + +ABBESS. +By men of Epidamnum, he and I +And the twin Dromio, all were taken up; +But, by and by, rude fishermen of Corinth +By force took Dromio and my son from them, +And me they left with those of Epidamnum. +What then became of them I cannot tell; +I to this fortune that you see me in. + +DUKE. +Antipholus, thou cam’st from Corinth first? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +No, sir, not I, I came from Syracuse. + +DUKE. +Stay, stand apart, I know not which is which. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +I came from Corinth, my most gracious lord. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +And I with him. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Brought to this town by that most famous warrior, +Duke Menaphon, your most renowned uncle. + +ADRIANA. +Which of you two did dine with me today? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I, gentle mistress. + +ADRIANA. +And are not you my husband? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +No, I say nay to that. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +And so do I, yet did she call me so; +And this fair gentlewoman, her sister here, +Did call me brother. What I told you then, +I hope I shall have leisure to make good, +If this be not a dream I see and hear. + +ANGELO. +That is the chain, sir, which you had of me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +I think it be, sir. I deny it not. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +And you, sir, for this chain arrested me. + +ANGELO. +I think I did, sir. I deny it not. + +ADRIANA. +I sent you money, sir, to be your bail +By Dromio, but I think he brought it not. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +No, none by me. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +This purse of ducats I receiv’d from you, +And Dromio my man did bring them me. +I see we still did meet each other’s man, +And I was ta’en for him, and he for me, +And thereupon these errors are arose. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +These ducats pawn I for my father here. + +DUKE. +It shall not need, thy father hath his life. + +COURTESAN. +Sir, I must have that diamond from you. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +There, take it, and much thanks for my good cheer. + +ABBESS. +Renowned duke, vouchsafe to take the pains +To go with us into the abbey here, +And hear at large discoursed all our fortunes; +And all that are assembled in this place, +That by this sympathised one day’s error +Have suffer’d wrong, go, keep us company, +And we shall make full satisfaction. +Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail +Of you, my sons, and till this present hour +My heavy burden ne’er delivered. +The duke, my husband, and my children both, +And you, the calendars of their nativity, +Go to a gossips’ feast, and go with me. +After so long grief, such nativity. + +DUKE. +With all my heart, I’ll gossip at this feast. + + [_Exeunt except the two Dromios and two Brothers._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Master, shall I fetch your stuff from shipboard? + +ANTIPHOLUS OF EPHESUS. +Dromio, what stuff of mine hast thou embark’d? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Your goods that lay at host, sir, in the Centaur. + +ANTIPHOLUS OF SYRACUSE. +He speaks to me; I am your master, Dromio. +Come, go with us. We’ll look to that anon. +Embrace thy brother there, rejoice with him. + + [_Exeunt Antipholus of Syracuse and Antipholus of Ephesus._] + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +There is a fat friend at your master’s house, +That kitchen’d me for you today at dinner. +She now shall be my sister, not my wife. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Methinks you are my glass, and not my brother. +I see by you I am a sweet-faced youth. +Will you walk in to see their gossiping? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +Not I, sir, you are my elder. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +That’s a question, how shall we try it? + +DROMIO OF SYRACUSE. +We’ll draw cuts for the senior. Till then, lead thou first. + +DROMIO OF EPHESUS. +Nay, then, thus: +We came into the world like brother and brother, +And now let’s go hand in hand, not one before another. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Rome. A street + Scene II. Corioles. The Senate House + Scene III. Rome. An apartment in Martius’ house + Scene IV. Before Corioles + Scene V. Within Corioles. A street + Scene VI. Near the camp of Cominius + Scene VII. The gates of Corioles + Scene VIII. A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps + Scene IX. The Roman camp + Scene X. The camp of the Volsces + + ACT II + Scene I. Rome. A public place + Scene II. Rome. The Capitol + Scene III. Rome. The Forum + + ACT III + Scene I. Rome. A street + Scene II. Rome. A room in Coriolanus’s house + Scene III. Rome. The Forum + + ACT IV + Scene I. Rome. Before a gate of the city + Scene II. Rome. A street near the gate + Scene III. A highway between Rome and Antium + Scene IV. Antium. Before Aufidius’s house + Scene V. Antium. A hall in Aufidius’s house + Scene VI. Rome. A public place + Scene VII. A camp at a short distance from Rome + + ACT V + Scene I. Rome. A public place + Scene II. An Advanced post of the Volscian camp before Rome. + Scene III. The tent of Coriolanus + Scene IV. Rome. A public place + Scene V. Rome. A street near the gate + Scene VI. Antium. A public place + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +CAIUS MARTIUS CORIOLANUS, a noble Roman +VOLUMNIA, his mother +VIRGILIA, his wife +YOUNG MARTIUS, their son +VALERIA, friend to Volumnia and Virgilia +A GENTLEWOMAN, Volumnia’s attendant + +MENENIUS AGRIPPA, Friend to Coriolanus +COMINIUS, General against the Volscians +TITUS LARTIUS, General against the Volscians +SICINIUS VELUTUS, Tribune of the People +JUNIUS BRUTUS, Tribune of the People +A ROMAN HERALD + +TULLUS AUFIDIUS, General of the Volscians +LIEUTENANT, to Aufidius +Conspirators with Aufidius +A CITIZEN of Antium +TWO VOLSCIAN GUARDS + +Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Aediles, Lictors, Soldiers, +Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants + +SCENE: Partly in Rome, and partly in the territories of the Volscians +and Antiates. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Rome. A street + + +Enter a company of mutinous Citizens, with staves, clubs, and other +weapons. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Before we proceed any further, hear me speak. + +ALL. +Speak, speak! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +You are all resolved rather to die than to famish? + +ALL. +Resolved, resolved! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +First, you know Caius Martius is chief enemy to the people. + +ALL. +We know’t, we know’t! + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Let us kill him, and we’ll have corn at our own price. Is’t a verdict? + +ALL. +No more talking on’t; let it be done. Away, away! + +SECOND CITIZEN. +One word, good citizens. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good. What authority +surfeits on would relieve us. If they would yield us but the +superfluity while it were wholesome, we might guess they relieved us +humanely. But they think we are too dear. The leanness that afflicts +us, the object of our misery, is as an inventory to particularize their +abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them. Let us revenge this with +our pikes ere we become rakes; for the gods know I speak this in hunger +for bread, not in thirst for revenge. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Would you proceed especially against Caius Martius? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Against him first. He’s a very dog to the commonalty. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Consider you what services he has done for his country? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Very well, and could be content to give him good report for’t, but that +he pays himself with being proud. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Nay, but speak not maliciously. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +I say unto you, what he hath done famously he did it to that end. +Though soft-conscienced men can be content to say it was for his +country, he did it to please his mother and to be partly proud, which +he is, even to the altitude of his virtue. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +What he cannot help in his nature you account a vice in him. You must +in no way say he is covetous. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations. He hath faults, +with surplus, to tire in repetition. [_Shouts within_.] What shouts are +these? The other side o’ th’ city is risen. Why stay we prating here? +To th’ Capitol! + +ALL. +Come, come! + +Enter Menenius Agrippa. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Soft, who comes here? + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Worthy Menenius Agrippa, one that hath always loved the people. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +He’s one honest enough. Would all the rest were so! + +MENENIUS. +What work’s, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you +With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Our business is not unknown to th’ Senate. They have had inkling this +fortnight what we intend to do, which now we’ll show ’em in deeds. They +say poor suitors have strong breaths; they shall know we have strong +arms too. + +MENENIUS. +Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, +Will you undo yourselves? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +We cannot, sir; we are undone already. + +MENENIUS. +I tell you, friends, most charitable care +Have the patricians of you. For your wants, +Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well +Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them +Against the Roman state, whose course will on +The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs +Of more strong link asunder than can ever +Appear in your impediment. For the dearth, +The gods, not the patricians, make it, and +Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack, +You are transported by calamity +Thither where more attends you, and you slander +The helms o’ th’ state, who care for you like fathers, +When you curse them as enemies. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Care for us? True, indeed! They ne’er cared for us yet. Suffer us to +famish, and their storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury +to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against +the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily to chain up and +restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and there’s +all the love they bear us. + +MENENIUS. +Either you must confess yourselves wondrous malicious +Or be accused of folly. I shall tell you +A pretty tale. It may be you have heard it, +But since it serves my purpose, I will venture +To stale’t a little more. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Well, I’ll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to fob off our disgrace +with a tale. But, an’t please you, deliver. + +MENENIUS. +There was a time when all the body’s members +Rebelled against the belly, thus accused it: +That only like a gulf it did remain +I’ th’ midst o’ th’ body, idle and unactive, +Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing +Like labour with the rest, where th’ other instruments +Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, +And, mutually participate, did minister +Unto the appetite and affection common +Of the whole body. The belly answered— + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Well, sir, what answer made the belly? + +MENENIUS. +Sir, I shall tell you. With a kind of smile, +Which ne’er came from the lungs, but even thus— +For, look you, I may make the belly smile +As well as speak—it tauntingly replied +To th’ discontented members, the mutinous parts +That envied his receipt; even so most fitly +As you malign our senators for that +They are not such as you. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Your belly’s answer—what? +The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye, +The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier, +Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter, +With other muniments and petty helps +Is this our fabric, if that they— + +MENENIUS. +What then? +’Fore me, this fellow speaks. What then? What then? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Should by the cormorant belly be restrained, +Who is the sink o’ th’ body— + +MENENIUS. +Well, what then? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +The former agents, if they did complain, +What could the belly answer? + +MENENIUS. +I will tell you, +If you’ll bestow a small—of what you have little— +Patience awhile, you’st hear the belly’s answer. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +You are long about it. + +MENENIUS. +Note me this, good friend; +Your most grave belly was deliberate, +Not rash like his accusers, and thus answered: +“True is it, my incorporate friends,” quoth he, +“That I receive the general food at first +Which you do live upon; and fit it is, +Because I am the storehouse and the shop +Of the whole body. But, if you do remember, +I send it through the rivers of your blood +Even to the court, the heart, to th’ seat o’ th’ brain; +And, through the cranks and offices of man, +The strongest nerves and small inferior veins +From me receive that natural competency +Whereby they live. And though that all at once, +You, my good friends”—this says the belly, mark me— + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Ay, sir, well, well. + +MENENIUS. +“Though all at once cannot +See what I do deliver out to each, +Yet I can make my audit up, that all +From me do back receive the flour of all, +And leave me but the bran.” What say you to’t? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +It was an answer. How apply you this? + +MENENIUS. +The senators of Rome are this good belly, +And you the mutinous members. For examine +Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly +Touching the weal o’ th’ common, you shall find +No public benefit which you receive +But it proceeds or comes from them to you +And no way from yourselves. What do you think, +You, the great toe of this assembly? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +I the great toe? Why the great toe? + +MENENIUS. +For that, being one o’ th’ lowest, basest, poorest, +Of this most wise rebellion, thou goest foremost. +Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run, +Lead’st first to win some vantage. +But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs. +Rome and her rats are at the point of battle; +The one side must have bale. + +Enter Caius Martius. + +Hail, noble Martius. + +MARTIUS. +Thanks.—What’s the matter, you dissentious rogues, +That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, +Make yourselves scabs? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +We have ever your good word. + +MARTIUS. +He that will give good words to thee will flatter +Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs, +That like nor peace nor war? The one affrights you; +The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you, +Where he should find you lions, finds you hares; +Where foxes, geese. You are no surer, no, +Than is the coal of fire upon the ice +Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is +To make him worthy whose offence subdues him, +And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness +Deserves your hate; and your affections are +A sick man’s appetite, who desires most that +Which would increase his evil. He that depends +Upon your favours swims with fins of lead, +And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye? +With every minute you do change a mind +And call him noble that was now your hate, +Him vile that was your garland. What’s the matter, +That in these several places of the city +You cry against the noble senate, who, +Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else +Would feed on one another?—What’s their seeking? + +MENENIUS. +For corn at their own rates, whereof they say +The city is well stored. + +MARTIUS. +Hang ’em! They say? +They’ll sit by th’ fire and presume to know +What’s done i’ th’ Capitol, who’s like to rise, +Who thrives and who declines; side factions and give out +Conjectural marriages, making parties strong +And feebling such as stand not in their liking +Below their cobbled shoes. They say there’s grain enough? +Would the nobility lay aside their ruth +And let me use my sword, I’d make a quarry +With thousands of these quartered slaves as high +As I could pick my lance. + +MENENIUS. +Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded; +For though abundantly they lack discretion, +Yet are they passing cowardly. But I beseech you, +What says the other troop? + +MARTIUS. +They are dissolved. Hang ’em! +They said they were an-hungry, sighed forth proverbs +That hunger broke stone walls, that dogs must eat, +That meat was made for mouths, that the gods sent not +Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds +They vented their complainings, which being answered +And a petition granted them—a strange one, +To break the heart of generosity +And make bold power look pale—they threw their caps +As they would hang them on the horns o’ th’ moon, +Shouting their emulation. + +MENENIUS. +What is granted them? + +MARTIUS. +Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms, +Of their own choice. One’s Junius Brutus, +Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. ’Sdeath! +The rabble should have first unroofed the city +Ere so prevailed with me. It will in time +Win upon power and throw forth greater themes +For insurrection’s arguing. + +MENENIUS. +This is strange. + +MARTIUS. +Go get you home, you fragments. + +Enter a Messenger hastily. + +MESSENGER. +Where’s Caius Martius? + +MARTIUS. +Here. What’s the matter? + +MESSENGER. +The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms. + +MARTIUS. +I am glad on’t. Then we shall ha’ means to vent +Our musty superfluity. + +Enter Sicinius Velutus, Junius Brutus, two Tribunes; Cominius, Titus +Lartius with other Senators. + +See, our best elders. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Martius, ’tis true that you have lately told us: +The Volsces are in arms. + +MARTIUS. +They have a leader, +Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to’t. +I sin in envying his nobility, +And, were I anything but what I am, +I would wish me only he. + +COMINIUS. +You have fought together. + +MARTIUS. +Were half to half the world by th’ ears and he +Upon my party, I’d revolt, to make +Only my wars with him. He is a lion +That I am proud to hunt. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Then, worthy Martius, +Attend upon Cominius to these wars. + +COMINIUS. +It is your former promise. + +MARTIUS. +Sir, it is, +And I am constant.—Titus Lartius, thou +Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus’ face. +What, art thou stiff? Stand’st out? + +TITUS LARTIUS. +No, Caius Martius, +I’ll lean upon one crutch and fight with th’ other +Ere stay behind this business. + +MENENIUS. +O, true bred! + +FIRST SENATOR. +Your company to th’ Capitol, where I know +Our greatest friends attend us. + +TITUS LARTIUS. +Lead you on. +Follow Cominius. We must follow you; +Right worthy your priority. + +COMINIUS. +Noble Martius. + +FIRST SENATOR. +[_To the Citizens_.] +Hence to your homes, begone. + +MARTIUS. +Nay, let them follow. +The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither +To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutineers, +Your valour puts well forth. Pray follow. + +[_Exeunt. Sicinius and Brutus remain_.] + +SICINIUS. +Was ever man so proud as is this Martius? + +BRUTUS. +He has no equal. + +SICINIUS. +When we were chosen tribunes for the people— + +BRUTUS. +Marked you his lip and eyes? + +SICINIUS. +Nay, but his taunts. + +BRUTUS. +Being moved, he will not spare to gird the gods. + +SICINIUS. +Bemock the modest moon. + +BRUTUS. +The present wars devour him! He is grown +Too proud to be so valiant. + +SICINIUS. +Such a nature, +Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow +Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder +His insolence can brook to be commanded +Under Cominius. + +BRUTUS. +Fame, at the which he aims, +In whom already he’s well graced, cannot +Better be held nor more attained than by +A place below the first; for what miscarries +Shall be the General’s fault, though he perform +To th’ utmost of a man, and giddy censure +Will then cry out of Martius “O, if he +Had borne the business!” + +SICINIUS. +Besides, if things go well, +Opinion that so sticks on Martius shall +Of his demerits rob Cominius. + +BRUTUS. +Come. +Half all Cominius’ honours are to Martius, +Though Martius earned them not, and all his faults +To Martius shall be honours, though indeed +In aught he merit not. + +SICINIUS. +Let’s hence and hear +How the dispatch is made, and in what fashion, +More than in singularity, he goes +Upon this present action. + +BRUTUS. +Let’s along. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Corioles. The Senate House + +Enter Tullus Aufidius with Senators of Corioles. + +FIRST SENATOR. +So, your opinion is, Aufidius, +That they of Rome are entered in our counsels +And know how we proceed. + +AUFIDIUS. +Is it not yours? +What ever have been thought on in this state +That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome +Had circumvention? ’Tis not four days gone +Since I heard thence. These are the words—I think +I have the letter here. Yes, here it is. +[_Reads_.] _They have pressed a power, but it is not known +Whether for east or west. The dearth is great. +The people mutinous; and, it is rumoured, +Cominius, Martius your old enemy, +Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,— +And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman, +These three lead on this preparation +Whither ’tis bent. Most likely ’tis for you. +Consider of it._ + +FIRST SENATOR. +Our army’s in the field. +We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready +To answer us. + +AUFIDIUS. +Nor did you think it folly +To keep your great pretences veiled till when +They needs must show themselves, which, in the hatching, +It seemed, appeared to Rome. By the discovery +We shall be shortened in our aim, which was +To take in many towns ere almost Rome +Should know we were afoot. + +SECOND SENATOR. +Noble Aufidius, +Take your commission; hie you to your bands. +Let us alone to guard Corioles. +If they set down before’s, for the remove +Bring up your army. But I think you’ll find +They’ve not prepared for us. + +AUFIDIUS. +O, doubt not that; +I speak from certainties. Nay, more, +Some parcels of their power are forth already, +And only hitherward. I leave your Honours. +If we and Caius Martius chance to meet, +’Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike +Till one can do no more. + +ALL. +The gods assist you! + +AUFIDIUS. +And keep your Honours safe! + +FIRST SENATOR. +Farewell. + +SECOND SENATOR. +Farewell. + +ALL. +Farewell. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Rome. An apartment in Martius’ house + +Enter Volumnia and Virgilia, mother and wife to Martius. They set them +down on two low stools and sew. + +VOLUMNIA. +I pray you, daughter, sing, or express yourself in a more comfortable +sort. If my son were my husband, I should freelier rejoice in that +absence wherein he won honour than in the embracements of his bed where +he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and the only +son of my womb, when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way, +when for a day of kings’ entreaties a mother should not sell him an +hour from her beholding, I, considering how honour would become such a +person—that it was no better than picture-like to hang by th’ wall, if +renown made it not stir—was pleased to let him seek danger where he was +like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he returned, +his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in +joy at first hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had +proved himself a man. + +VIRGILIA. +But had he died in the business, madam, how then? + +VOLUMNIA. +Then his good report should have been my son; I therein would have +found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my +love alike and none less dear than thine and my good Martius, I had +rather had eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously +surfeit out of action. + +Enter a Gentlewoman. + +GENTLEWOMAN. +Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you. + +VIRGILIA. +Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself. + +VOLUMNIA. +Indeed you shall not. +Methinks I hear hither your husband’s drum, +See him pluck Aufidius down by th’ hair; +As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him. +Methinks I see him stamp thus and call thus: +“Come on, you cowards! You were got in fear, +Though you were born in Rome.” His bloody brow +With his mailed hand then wiping, forth he goes +Like to a harvestman that’s tasked to mow +Or all or lose his hire. + +VIRGILIA. +His bloody brow? O Jupiter, no blood! + +VOLUMNIA. +Away, you fool! It more becomes a man +Than gilt his trophy. The breasts of Hecuba, +When she did suckle Hector, looked not lovelier +Than Hector’s forehead when it spit forth blood +At Grecian sword, contemning.—Tell Valeria +We are fit to bid her welcome. + +[_Exit Gentlewoman._] + +VIRGILIA. +Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius! + +VOLUMNIA. +He’ll beat Aufidius’ head below his knee +And tread upon his neck. + +Enter Valeria with an Usher and a Gentlewoman. + +VALERIA. +My ladies both, good day to you. + +VOLUMNIA. +Sweet madam. + +VIRGILIA. +I am glad to see your Ladyship. + +VALERIA. +How do you both? You are manifest housekeepers. What are you sewing +here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little son? + +VIRGILIA. +I thank your Ladyship; well, good madam. + +VOLUMNIA. +He had rather see the swords and hear a drum than look upon his +schoolmaster. + +VALERIA. +O’ my word, the father’s son! I’ll swear ’tis a very pretty boy. O’ my +troth, I looked upon him o’ Wednesday half an hour together. H’as such +a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly, and +when he caught it, he let it go again, and after it again, and over and +over he comes, and up again, catched it again. Or whether his fall +enraged him or how ’twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it. O, I +warrant how he mammocked it! + +VOLUMNIA. +One on’s father’s moods. + +VALERIA. +Indeed, la, ’tis a noble child. + +VIRGILIA. +A crack, madam. + +VALERIA. +Come, lay aside your stitchery. I must have you play the idle huswife +with me this afternoon. + +VIRGILIA. +No, good madam, I will not out of doors. + +VALERIA. +Not out of doors? + +VOLUMNIA. +She shall, she shall. + +VIRGILIA. +Indeed, no, by your patience. I’ll not over the threshold till my lord +return from the wars. + +VALERIA. +Fie, you confine yourself most unreasonably. Come, you must go visit +the good lady that lies in. + +VIRGILIA. +I will wish her speedy strength and visit her with my prayers, but I +cannot go thither. + +VOLUMNIA. +Why, I pray you? + +VIRGILIA. +’Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love. + +VALERIA. +You would be another Penelope. Yet they say all the yarn she spun in +Ulysses’ absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come, I would your +cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it +for pity. Come, you shall go with us. + +VIRGILIA. +No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth. + +VALERIA. +In truth, la, go with me, and I’ll tell you excellent news of your +husband. + +VIRGILIA. +O, good madam, there can be none yet. + +VALERIA. +Verily, I do not jest with you. There came news from him last night. + +VIRGILIA. +Indeed, madam! + +VALERIA. +In earnest, it’s true. I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is: the +Volsces have an army forth, against whom Cominius the General is gone +with one part of our Roman power. Your lord and Titus Lartius are set +down before their city Corioles. They nothing doubt prevailing, and to +make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour, and so, I pray, go +with us. + +VIRGILIA. +Give me excuse, good madam. I will obey you in everything hereafter. + +VOLUMNIA. +Let her alone, lady. As she is now, she will but disease our better +mirth. + +VALERIA. +In troth, I think she would.—Fare you well, then.—Come, good sweet +lady.—Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o’ door, and go along +with us. + +VIRGILIA. +No, at a word, madam. Indeed I must not. I wish you much mirth. + +VALERIA. +Well then, farewell. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Before Corioles + +Enter Martius, Titus Lartius, with drum and colours, with Captains and +Soldiers, as before the city of Corioles. To them a Messenger. + +MARTIUS. +Yonder comes news. A wager they have met. + +LARTIUS. +My horse to yours, no. + +MARTIUS. +’Tis done. + +LARTIUS. +Agreed. + +MARTIUS. +[_To Messenger_.] Say, has our general met the enemy? + +MESSENGER. +They lie in view but have not spoke as yet. + +LARTIUS. +So the good horse is mine. + +MARTIUS. +I’ll buy him of you. + +LARTIUS. +No, I’ll nor sell nor give him. Lend you him I will +For half a hundred years.—Summon the town. + +MARTIUS. +How far off lie these armies? + +MESSENGER. +Within this mile and half. + +MARTIUS. +Then shall we hear their ’larum, and they ours. +Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work, +That we with smoking swords may march from hence +To help our fielded friends!—Come, blow thy blast. + +[_They sound a parley._] + +Enter two Senators with others on the walls of Corioles. + +Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls? + +FIRST SENATOR. +No, nor a man that fears you less than he: +That’s lesser than a little. +[_Drum afar off_.] +Hark, our drums +Are bringing forth our youth. We’ll break our walls +Rather than they shall pound us up. Our gates, +Which yet seem shut, we have but pinned with rushes. +They’ll open of themselves. +[_Alarum far off_.] +Hark you, far off! +There is Aufidius. List what work he makes +Amongst your cloven army. + +MARTIUS. +O, they are at it! + +LARTIUS. +Their noise be our instruction.—Ladders, ho! + +Enter the Army of the Volsces as through the city gates. + +MARTIUS. +They fear us not but issue forth their city.— +Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight +With hearts more proof than shields.—Advance, brave Titus. +They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts, +Which makes me sweat with wrath.—Come on, my fellows! +He that retires, I’ll take him for a Volsce, +And he shall feel mine edge. + +[_Alarums. The Romans are beat back to their trenches. They exit, with +the Volsces following_.] + +Enter Martius cursing, with Roman soldiers. + +MARTIUS. +All the contagion of the south light on you, +You shames of Rome! You herd of—Boils and plagues +Plaster you o’er, that you may be abhorred +Farther than seen, and one infect another +Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese, +That bear the shapes of men, how have you run +From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell! +All hurt behind. Backs red, and faces pale +With flight and agued fear! Mend, and charge home, +Or, by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the foe +And make my wars on you. Look to’t. Come on! +If you’ll stand fast we’ll beat them to their wives, +As they us to our trenches. Follow’s! + +[_Another alarum. The Volsces re-enter and are driven back to the gates +of Corioles, which open to admit them._] + +So, now the gates are ope. Now prove good seconds! +’Tis for the followers fortune widens them, +Not for the fliers. Mark me, and do the like. + +[_Martius follows the fleeing Volsces through the gates, and is shut +in._] + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Foolhardiness, not I. + +SECOND SOLDIER. +Nor I. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +See, they have shut him in. + +[_Alarum continues._] + +ALL. +To th’ pot, I warrant him. + +Enter Titus Lartius. + +LARTIUS. +What is become of Martius? + +ALL. +Slain, sir, doubtless. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Following the fliers at the very heels, +With them he enters, who upon the sudden +Clapped to their gates. He is himself alone, +To answer all the city. + +LARTIUS. +O noble fellow, +Who sensibly outdares his senseless sword, +And when it bows, stand’st up! Thou art left, Martius. +A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art, +Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier +Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible +Only in strokes, but with thy grim looks and +The thunderlike percussion of thy sounds +Thou mad’st thine enemies shake, as if the world +Were feverous and did tremble. + +Enter Martius, bleeding, assaulted by the enemy. + +FIRST SOLDIER. +Look, sir. + +LARTIUS. +O, ’tis Martius! +Let’s fetch him off or make remain alike. + +[_They fight, and all enter the city._] + +SCENE V. Within Corioles. A street + +Enter certain Romans, with spoils. + +FIRST ROMAN. +This will I carry to Rome. + +SECOND ROMAN. +And I this. + +THIRD ROMAN. +A murrain on’t! I took this for silver. + +Enter Martius and Titus Lartius with a Trumpet. + +MARTIUS. +See here these movers that do prize their hours +At a cracked drachma. Cushions, leaden spoons, +Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would +Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves, +Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them! + +[_Exit the Romans with spoils._] + +[_Alarum continues still afar off._] + +And hark, what noise the General makes! To him! +There is the man of my soul’s hate, Aufidius, +Piercing our Romans. Then, valiant Titus, take +Convenient numbers to make good the city, +Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste +To help Cominius. + +LARTIUS. +Worthy sir, thou bleed’st. +Thy exercise hath been too violent +For a second course of fight. + +MARTIUS. +Sir, praise me not. +My work hath yet not warmed me. Fare you well. +The blood I drop is rather physical +Than dangerous to me. To Aufidius thus +I will appear and fight. + +LARTIUS. +Now the fair goddess Fortune +Fall deep in love with thee, and her great charms +Misguide thy opposers’ swords! Bold gentleman, +Prosperity be thy page! + +MARTIUS. +Thy friend no less +Than those she placeth highest! So farewell. + +LARTIUS. +Thou worthiest Martius! + +[_Exit Martius._] + +Go sound thy trumpet in the marketplace. +Call thither all the officers o’ th’ town, +Where they shall know our mind. Away! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Near the camp of Cominius + +Enter Cominius as it were in retire, with Soldiers. + +COMINIUS. +Breathe you, my friends. Well fought! We are come off +Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands +Nor cowardly in retire. Believe me, sirs, +We shall be charged again. Whiles we have struck, +By interims and conveying gusts we have heard +The charges of our friends. The Roman gods +Lead their successes as we wish our own, +That both our powers, with smiling fronts encount’ring, +May give you thankful sacrifice! + +Enter a Messenger. + +Thy news? + +MESSENGER. +The citizens of Corioles have issued, +And given to Lartius and to Martius battle. +I saw our party to their trenches driven, +And then I came away. + +COMINIUS. +Though thou speakest truth, +Methinks thou speak’st not well. How long is’t since? + +MESSENGER. +Above an hour, my lord. + +COMINIUS. +’Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums. +How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour +And bring thy news so late? + +MESSENGER. +Spies of the Volsces +Held me in chase, that I was forced to wheel +Three or four miles about; else had I, sir, +Half an hour since brought my report. + +[_Exit Messenger._] + +Enter Martius, bloody. + +COMINIUS. +Who’s yonder, +That does appear as he were flayed? O gods, +He has the stamp of Martius, and I have +Before-time seen him thus. + +MARTIUS. +Come I too late? + +COMINIUS. +The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor +More than I know the sound of Martius’ tongue +From every meaner man. + +MARTIUS. +Come I too late? + +COMINIUS. +Ay, if you come not in the blood of others, +But mantled in your own. + +MARTIUS. +O, let me clip you +In arms as sound as when I wooed, in heart +As merry as when our nuptial day was done +And tapers burned to bedward! + +COMINIUS. +Flower of warriors, how is’t with Titus Lartius? + +MARTIUS. +As with a man busied about decrees, +Condemning some to death and some to exile; +Ransoming him or pitying, threat’ning the other; +Holding Corioles in the name of Rome +Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash, +To let him slip at will. + +COMINIUS. +Where is that slave +Which told me they had beat you to your trenches? +Where’s he? Call him hither. + +MARTIUS. +Let him alone. +He did inform the truth. But for our gentlemen, +The common file—a plague! Tribunes for them!— +The mouse ne’er shunned the cat as they did budge +From rascals worse than they. + +COMINIUS. +But how prevailed you? + +MARTIUS. +Will the time serve to tell? I do not think. +Where is the enemy? Are you lords o’ th’ field? +If not, why cease you till you are so? + +COMINIUS. +Martius, we have at disadvantage fought, +And did retire to win our purpose. + +MARTIUS. +How lies their battle? Know you on which side +They have placed their men of trust? + +COMINIUS. +As I guess, Martius, +Their bands i’ th’ vaward are the Antiates, +Of their best trust; o’er them Aufidius, +Their very heart of hope. + +MARTIUS. +I do beseech you, +By all the battles wherein we have fought, +By th’ blood we have shed together, by th’ vows we have made +To endure friends, that you directly set me +Against Aufidius and his Antiates, +And that you not delay the present, but, +Filling the air with swords advanced and darts, +We prove this very hour. + +COMINIUS. +Though I could wish +You were conducted to a gentle bath +And balms applied to you, yet dare I never +Deny your asking. Take your choice of those +That best can aid your action. + +MARTIUS. +Those are they +That most are willing. If any such be here— +As it were sin to doubt—that love this painting +Wherein you see me smeared; if any fear +Lesser his person than an ill report; +If any think brave death outweighs bad life, +And that his country’s dearer than himself; +Let him alone, or so many so minded, +Wave thus to express his disposition +And follow Martius. + +[_He waves his sword._] + +[_They all shout and wave their swords, take him up in their arms, and +cast up their caps._] + +O, me alone! Make you a sword of me? +If these shows be not outward, which of you +But is four Volsces? None of you but is +Able to bear against the great Aufidius +A shield as hard as his. A certain number, +Though thanks to all, must I select from all. +The rest shall bear the business in some other fight, +As cause will be obeyed. Please you to march, +And I shall quickly draw out my command, +Which men are best inclined. + +COMINIUS. +March on, my fellows. +Make good this ostentation, and you shall +Divide in all with us. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. The gates of Corioles + +Titus Lartius, having set a guard upon Corioles, going with drum and +trumpet toward Cominius and Caius Martius, enters with a Lieutenant, +other Soldiers, and a Scout. + +LARTIUS. +So, let the ports be guarded. Keep your duties +As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch +Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve +For a short holding. If we lose the field, +We cannot keep the town. + +LIEUTENANT. +Fear not our care, sir. + +LARTIUS. +Hence, and shut your gates upon’s. +Our guider, come. To th’ Roman camp conduct us. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. A field of battle between the Roman and the Volscian camps + +Alarum, as in battle. Enter Martius and Aufidius at several doors. + +MARTIUS. +I’ll fight with none but thee, for I do hate thee +Worse than a promise-breaker. + +AUFIDIUS. +We hate alike. +Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor +More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot. + +MARTIUS. +Let the first budger die the other’s slave, +And the gods doom him after! + +AUFIDIUS. +If I fly, Martius, +Hollo me like a hare. + +MARTIUS. +Within these three hours, Tullus, +Alone I fought in your Corioles’ walls, +And made what work I pleased. ’Tis not my blood +Wherein thou seest me masked. For thy revenge +Wrench up thy power to th’ highest. + +AUFIDIUS. +Wert thou the Hector +That was the whip of your bragged progeny, +Thou shouldst not scape me here. + +[_Here they fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid of Aufidius._] + +Officious and not valiant, you have shamed me +In your condemned seconds. + +[_Martius fights till they be driven in breathless. Aufidius and +Martius exit, separately._] + +SCENE IX. The Roman camp + +Alarum. A retreat is sounded. Flourish. Enter, at one door, Cominius +with the Romans; at another door, Martius, with his arm in a scarf. + +COMINIUS. +If I should tell thee o’er this thy day’s work, +Thou’t not believe thy deeds. But I’ll report it +Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles; +Where great patricians shall attend and shrug, +I’ th’ end admire; where ladies shall be frighted +And, gladly quaked, hear more; where the dull tribunes, +That with the fusty plebeians hate thine honours, +Shall say against their hearts “We thank the gods +Our Rome hath such a soldier.” +Yet cam’st thou to a morsel of this feast, +Having fully dined before. + +Enter Titus Lartius with his power, from the pursuit. + +LARTIUS. +O general, +Here is the steed, we the caparison. +Hadst thou beheld— + +MARTIUS. +Pray now, no more. My mother, +Who has a charter to extol her blood, +When she does praise me grieves me. I have done +As you have done—that’s what I can; +Induced as you have been—that’s for my country. +He that has but effected his good will +Hath overta’en mine act. + +COMINIUS. +You shall not be +The grave of your deserving. Rome must know +The value of her own. ’Twere a concealment +Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement, +To hide your doings and to silence that +Which, to the spire and top of praises vouched, +Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you— +In sign of what you are, not to reward +What you have done—before our army hear me. + +MARTIUS. +I have some wounds upon me, and they smart +To hear themselves remembered. + +COMINIUS. +Should they not, +Well might they fester ’gainst ingratitude +And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses— +Whereof we have ta’en good and good store—of all +The treasure in this field achieved and city, +We render you the tenth, to be ta’en forth +Before the common distribution +At your only choice. + +MARTIUS. +I thank you, general, +But cannot make my heart consent to take +A bribe to pay my sword. I do refuse it; +And stand upon my common part with those +That have beheld the doing. + +[_A long flourish. They all cry “Martius, Martius!” and cast up their +caps and lances. Cominius and Lartius stand bare._] + +May these same instruments which, you profane, +Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall +I’ th’ field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be +Made all of false-faced soothing! When steel grows soft +Soft as the parasite’s silk, let him be made +An ovator for the wars! No more, I say. +For that I have not washed my nose that bled, +Or foiled some debile wretch—which, without note, +Here’s many else have done—you shout me forth +In acclamations hyperbolical, +As if I loved my little should be dieted +In praises sauced with lies. + +COMINIUS. +Too modest are you, +More cruel to your good report than grateful +To us that give you truly. By your patience, +If ’gainst yourself you be incensed, we’ll put you, +Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles, +Then reason safely with you. Therefore be it known, +As to us to all the world, that Caius Martius +Wears this war’s garland, in token of the which +My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, +With all his trim belonging. And from this time, +For what he did before Corioles, call him, +With all th’ applause and clamour of the host, +Caius Martius Coriolanus! Bear +Th’ addition nobly ever! + +[_Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums._] + +ALL. +Caius Martius Coriolanus! + +CORIOLANUS. +I will go wash; +And when my face is fair, you shall perceive +Whether I blush or no. Howbeit, I thank you. +I mean to stride your steed and at all times +To undercrest your good addition +To th’ fairness of my power. + +COMINIUS. +So, to our tent, +Where, ere we do repose us, we will write +To Rome of our success.—You, Titus Lartius, +Must to Corioles back. Send us to Rome +The best, with whom we may articulate +For their own good and ours. + +LARTIUS. +I shall, my lord. + +CORIOLANUS. +The gods begin to mock me. I, that now +Refused most princely gifts, am bound to beg +Of my lord general. + +COMINIUS. +Take’t, ’tis yours. What is’t? + +CORIOLANUS. +I sometime lay here in Corioles +At a poor man’s house; he used me kindly. +He cried to me; I saw him prisoner; +But then Aufidius was within my view, +And wrath o’erwhelmed my pity. I request you +To give my poor host freedom. + +COMINIUS. +O, well begged! +Were he the butcher of my son, he should +Be free as is the wind.—Deliver him, Titus. + +LARTIUS. +Martius, his name? + +CORIOLANUS. +By Jupiter, forgot! +I am weary; yea, my memory is tired. +Have we no wine here? + +COMINIUS. +Go we to our tent. +The blood upon your visage dries; ’tis time +It should be looked to. Come. + +[_A flourish of cornets. Exeunt._] + +SCENE X. The camp of the Volsces + +A flourish. Cornets. Enter Tullus Aufidius, bloody, with two or three +soldiers. + +AUFIDIUS. +The town is ta’en. + +SOLDIER. +’Twill be delivered back on good condition. + +AUFIDIUS. +Condition? +I would I were a Roman, for I cannot, +Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition? +What good condition can a treaty find +I’ th’ part that is at mercy? Five times, Martius, +I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me +And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter +As often as we eat. By th’ elements, +If e’er again I meet him beard to beard, +He’s mine or I am his. Mine emulation +Hath not that honour in’t it had; for where +I thought to crush him in an equal force, +True sword to sword, I’ll potch at him some way, +Or wrath or craft may get him. + +SOLDIER. +He’s the devil. + +AUFIDIUS. +Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour’s poisoned +With only suff’ring stain by him; for him +Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary, +Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol, +The prayers of priests nor times of sacrifice, +Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up +Their rotten privilege and custom ’gainst +My hate to Martius. Where I find him, were it +At home, upon my brother’s guard, even there, +Against the hospitable canon, would I +Wash my fierce hand in’s heart. Go you to th’ city; +Learn how ’tis held and what they are that must +Be hostages for Rome. + +SOLDIER. +Will not you go? + +AUFIDIUS. +I am attended at the cypress grove. I pray you— +’Tis south the city mills,—bring me word thither +How the world goes, that to the pace of it +I may spur on my journey. + +SOLDIER. +I shall, sir. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Rome. A public place + + +Enter Menenius with the two Tribunes of the people, Sicinius and +Brutus. + +MENENIUS. +The augurer tells me we shall have news tonight. + +BRUTUS. +Good or bad? + +MENENIUS. +Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Martius. + +SICINIUS. +Nature teaches beasts to know their friends. + +MENENIUS. +Pray you, who does the wolf love? + +SICINIUS. +The lamb. + +MENENIUS. +Ay, to devour him, as the hungry plebeians would the noble Martius. + +BRUTUS. +He’s a lamb indeed, that baas like a bear. + +MENENIUS. +He’s a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men; tell +me one thing that I shall ask you. + +BOTH TRIBUNES. +Well, sir. + +MENENIUS. +In what enormity is Martius poor in, that you two have not in +abundance? + +BRUTUS. +He’s poor in no one fault, but stored with all. + +SICINIUS. +Especially in pride. + +BRUTUS. +And topping all others in boasting. + +MENENIUS. +This is strange now. Do you two know how you are censured here in the +city, I mean of us o’ th’ right-hand file, do you? + +BOTH TRIBUNES. +Why, how are we censured? + +MENENIUS. +Because you talk of pride now, will you not be angry? + +BOTH TRIBUNES. +Well, well, sir, well? + +MENENIUS. +Why, ’tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob +you of a great deal of patience. Give your dispositions the reins, and +be angry at your pleasures, at the least, if you take it as a pleasure +to you in being so. You blame Martius for being proud. + +BRUTUS. +We do it not alone, sir. + +MENENIUS. +I know you can do very little alone, for your helps are many, or else +your actions would grow wondrous single. Your abilities are too +infantlike for doing much alone. You talk of pride. O that you could +turn your eyes toward the napes of your necks and make but an interior +survey of your good selves! O, that you could! + +BOTH TRIBUNES. +What then, sir? + +MENENIUS. +Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, +testy magistrates, alias fools, as any in Rome. + +SICINIUS. +Menenius, you are known well enough, too. + +MENENIUS. +I am known to be a humorous patrician and one that loves a cup of hot +wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in’t; said to be something +imperfect in favouring the first complaint, hasty and tinder-like upon +too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the +night than with the forehead of the morning. What I think I utter, and +spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are—I +cannot call you Lycurguses—if the drink you give me touch my palate +adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say your Worships have +delivered the matter well when I find the ass in compound with the +major part of your syllables. And though I must be content to bear with +those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that +tell you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, +follows it that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson +conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough, +too? + +BRUTUS. +Come, sir, come; we know you well enough. + +MENENIUS. +You know neither me, yourselves, nor anything. You are ambitious for +poor knaves’ caps and legs. You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in +hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a faucet-seller, and then +rejourn the controversy of threepence to a second day of audience. When +you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be +pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody +flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber pot, dismiss +the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing. All the +peace you make in their cause is calling both the parties knaves. You +are a pair of strange ones. + +BRUTUS. +Come, come. You are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the +table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol. + +MENENIUS. +Our very priests must become mockers if they shall encounter such +ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose, +it is not worth the wagging of your beards, and your beards deserve not +so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher’s cushion or to be entombed +in an ass’s packsaddle. Yet you must be saying Martius is proud, who, +in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion, +though peradventure some of the best of ’em were hereditary hangmen. +Good e’en to your Worships. More of your conversation would infect my +brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians. I will be bold to +take my leave of you. + +[_He begins to exit. Brutus and Sicinius stand aside._] + +Enter Volumnia, Virgilia and Valeria + +How now, my as fair as noble ladies—and the moon, were she earthly, no +nobler—whither do you follow your eyes so fast? + +VOLUMNIA. +Honourable Menenius, my boy Martius approaches. For the love of Juno, +let’s go! + +MENENIUS. +Ha? Martius coming home? + +VOLUMNIA. +Ay, worthy Menenius, and with most prosperous approbation. + +MENENIUS. +Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee! Hoo! Martius coming home? + +VALERIA, VIRGILIA. +Nay, ’tis true. + +VOLUMNIA. +Look, here’s a letter from him. The state hath another, his wife +another, and I think there’s one at home for you. + +MENENIUS. +I will make my very house reel tonight. A letter for me? + +VIRGILIA. +Yes, certain, there’s a letter for you; I saw it. + +MENENIUS. +A letter for me? It gives me an estate of seven years’ health, in which +time I will make a lip at the physician. The most sovereign +prescription in Galen is but empiricutic and, to this preservative, of +no better report than a horse drench. Is he not wounded? He was wont to +come home wounded. + +VIRGILIA. +O, no, no, no! + +VOLUMNIA. +O, he is wounded, I thank the gods for’t. + +MENENIUS. +So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings he victory in his pocket, +the wounds become him. + +VOLUMNIA. +On’s brows, Menenius. He comes the third time home with the oaken +garland. + +MENENIUS. +Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly? + +VOLUMNIA. +Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius got off. + +MENENIUS. +And ’twas time for him too, I’ll warrant him that. An he had stayed by +him, I would not have been so ’fidiused for all the chests in Corioles +and the gold that’s in them. Is the Senate possessed of this? + +VOLUMNIA. +Good ladies, let’s go.—Yes, yes, yes. The Senate has letters from the +General, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war. He hath in +this action outdone his former deeds doubly. + +VALERIA. +In troth, there’s wondrous things spoke of him. + +MENENIUS. +Wondrous? Ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing. + +VIRGILIA. +The gods grant them true. + +VOLUMNIA. +True? Pow, waw! + +MENENIUS. +True? I’ll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? [_To the +Tribunes_.] God save your good Worships! Martius is coming home; he has +more cause to be proud.—Where is he wounded? + +VOLUMNIA. +I’ th’ shoulder and i’ th’ left arm. There will be large cicatrices to +show the people when he shall stand for his place. He received in the +repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i’ th’ body. + +MENENIUS. +One i’ th’ neck and two i’ th’ thigh—there’s nine that I know. + +VOLUMNIA. +He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him. + +MENENIUS. +Now it’s twenty-seven. Every gash was an enemy’s grave. + + +[_A shout and flourish_.] + +Hark, the trumpets! + +VOLUMNIA. +These are the ushers of Martius: before him he carries noise, and +behind him he leaves tears. +Death, that dark spirit, in’s nervy arm doth lie, +Which, being advanced, declines, and then men die. + +[_A sennet_.] + +Enter Cominius the General and Titus Lartius, between them Coriolanus +crowned with an oaken garland, with Captains and Soldiers and a Herald. +Trumpets sound. + +HERALD. +Know, Rome, that all alone Martius did fight +Within Corioles’ gates, where he hath won, +With fame, a name to Caius Martius; these +In honour follows “Coriolanus.” +Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus. + +[_Sound flourish._] + +ALL. +Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus! + +CORIOLANUS. +No more of this, it does offend my heart. +Pray now, no more. + +COMINIUS. +Look, sir, your mother. + +CORIOLANUS. +O, +You have, I know, petitioned all the gods +For my prosperity. + +[_Kneels._] + +VOLUMNIA. +Nay, my good soldier, up. + +[_He stands._] + +My gentle Martius, worthy Caius, and +By deed-achieving honour newly named— +What is it? Coriolanus must I call thee? +But, O, thy wife— + +CORIOLANUS. +My gracious silence, hail. +Wouldst thou have laughed had I come coffined home, +That weep’st to see me triumph? Ah, my dear, +Such eyes the widows in Corioles wear +And mothers that lack sons. + +MENENIUS. +Now the gods crown thee! + +CORIOLANUS. +And live you yet? [_To Valeria_] O my sweet lady, pardon. + +VOLUMNIA. +I know not where to turn. O, welcome home! +And welcome, general.—And you’re welcome all. + +MENENIUS. +A hundred thousand welcomes! I could weep, +And I could laugh; I am light and heavy. Welcome. +A curse begin at very root on’s heart +That is not glad to see thee! You are three +That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of men, +We have some old crab trees here at home that will not +Be grafted to your relish. Yet welcome, warriors! +We call a nettle but a nettle, and +The faults of fools but folly. + +COMINIUS. +Ever right. + +CORIOLANUS. +Menenius ever, ever. + +HERALD. +Give way there, and go on! + +CORIOLANUS. +[_To Volumnia and Virgilia_.] Your hand, and yours. +Ere in our own house I do shade my head, +The good patricians must be visited, +From whom I have received not only greetings, +But with them change of honours. + +VOLUMNIA. +I have lived +To see inherited my very wishes +And the buildings of my fancy. Only +There’s one thing wanting, which I doubt not but +Our Rome will cast upon thee. + +CORIOLANUS. +Know, good mother, +I had rather be their servant in my way +Than sway with them in theirs. + +COMINIUS. +On, to the Capitol. + +[_Flourish of cornets. Exeunt in state, as before._] + +Brutus and Sicinius come forward. + +BRUTUS. +All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights +Are spectacled to see him. Your prattling nurse +Into a rapture lets her baby cry +While she chats him. The kitchen malkin pins +Her richest lockram ’bout her reechy neck, +Clamb’ring the walls to eye him. Stalls, bulks, windows +Are smothered up, leads filled, and ridges horsed +With variable complexions, all agreeing +In earnestness to see him. Seld-shown flamens +Do press among the popular throngs and puff +To win a vulgar station. Our veiled dames +Commit the war of white and damask in +Their nicely-gauded cheeks to th’ wanton spoil +Of Phoebus’ burning kisses. Such a pother, +As if that whatsoever god who leads him +Were slyly crept into his human powers +And gave him graceful posture. + +SICINIUS. +On the sudden +I warrant him consul. + +BRUTUS. +Then our office may, +During his power, go sleep. + +SICINIUS. +He cannot temp’rately transport his honours +From where he should begin and end, but will +Lose those he hath won. + +BRUTUS. +In that there’s comfort. + +SICINIUS. +Doubt not the commoners, for whom we stand, +But they, upon their ancient malice will forget +With the least cause these his new honours—which +That he will give them make as little question +As he is proud to do’t. + +BRUTUS. +I heard him swear, +Were he to stand for consul, never would he +Appear i’ th’ marketplace nor on him put +The napless vesture of humility, +Nor showing, as the manner is, his wounds +To th’ people, beg their stinking breaths. + +SICINIUS. +’Tis right. + +BRUTUS. +It was his word. O, he would miss it rather +Than carry it but by the suit of the gentry to him +And the desire of the nobles. + +SICINIUS. +I wish no better +Than have him hold that purpose and to put it +In execution. + +BRUTUS. +’Tis most like he will. + +SICINIUS. +It shall be to him then, as our good wills, +A sure destruction. + +BRUTUS. +So it must fall out +To him, or our authorities for an end. +We must suggest the people in what hatred +He still hath held them; that to’s power he would +Have made them mules, silenced their pleaders, and +Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them +In human action and capacity +Of no more soul nor fitness for the world +Than camels in their war, who have their provand +Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows +For sinking under them. + +SICINIUS. +This, as you say, suggested +At some time when his soaring insolence +Shall touch the people—which time shall not want +If it be put upon’t, and that’s as easy +As to set dogs on sheep—will be his fire +To kindle their dry stubble, and their blaze +Shall darken him for ever. + +Enter a Messenger. + +BRUTUS. +What’s the matter? + +MESSENGER. +You are sent for to the Capitol. ’Tis thought +That Martius shall be consul. I have seen +The dumb men throng to see him, and the blind +to hear him speak; matrons flung gloves, +Ladies and maids their scarves and handkerchiefs, +Upon him as he passed; the nobles bended +As to Jove’s statue, and the Commons made +A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts. +I never saw the like. + +BRUTUS. +Let’s to the Capitol; +And carry with us ears and eyes for th’ time, +But hearts for the event. + +SICINIUS. +Have with you. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rome. The Capitol + +Enter two Officers, to lay cushions, as it were in the Capitol. + +FIRST OFFICER. +Come, come. They are almost here. How many stand for consulships? + +SECOND OFFICER. +Three, they say; but ’tis thought of everyone Coriolanus will carry it. + +FIRST OFFICER. +That’s a brave fellow, but he’s vengeance proud and loves not the +common people. + +SECOND OFFICER. +’Faith, there have been many great men that have flattered the people +who ne’er loved them; and there be many that they have loved they know +not wherefore; so that, if they love they know not why, they hate upon +no better a ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether +they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their +disposition and, out of his noble carelessness, lets them plainly +see’t. + +FIRST OFFICER. +If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved +indifferently ’twixt doing them neither good nor harm; but he seeks +their hate with greater devotion than they can render it him and leaves +nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem +to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as that +which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love. + +SECOND OFFICER. +He hath deserved worthily of his country, and his ascent is not by such +easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the +people, bonnetted, without any further deed to have them at all into +their estimation and report; but he hath so planted his honours in +their eyes and his actions in their hearts that for their tongues to be +silent and not confess so much were a kind of ingrateful injury. To +report otherwise were a malice that, giving itself the lie, would pluck +reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it. + +FIRST OFFICER. +No more of him; he’s a worthy man. Make way. They are coming. + +A sennet. Enter the Patricians and the Tribunes of the people, Lictors +before them; Coriolanus, Menenius, Cominius the consul. The Patricians +sit. Sicinius and Brutus take their places by themselves. Coriolanus +stands. + +MENENIUS. +Having determined of the Volsces and +To send for Titus Lartius, it remains, +As the main point of this our after-meeting, +To gratify his noble service that +Hath thus stood for his country. Therefore please you, +Most reverend and grave elders, to desire +The present consul and last general +In our well-found successes to report +A little of that worthy work performed +By Martius Caius Coriolanus, whom +We met here both to thank and to remember +With honours like himself. + +[_Coriolanus sits._] + +FIRST SENATOR. +Speak, good Cominius. +Leave nothing out for length, and make us think +Rather our state’s defective for requital, +Than we to stretch it out. Masters o’ th’ people, +We do request your kindest ears and, after, +Your loving motion toward the common body +To yield what passes here. + +SICINIUS. +We are convented +Upon a pleasing treaty and have hearts +Inclinable to honour and advance +The theme of our assembly. + +BRUTUS. +Which the rather +We shall be blest to do if he remember +A kinder value of the people than +He hath hereto prized them at. + +MENENIUS. +That’s off, that’s off! +I would you rather had been silent. Please you +To hear Cominius speak? + +BRUTUS. +Most willingly. +But yet my caution was more pertinent +Than the rebuke you give it. + +MENENIUS. +He loves your people, +But tie him not to be their bedfellow.— +Worthy Cominius, speak. + +[_Coriolanus rises, and offers to go away._] + +Nay, keep your place. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Sit, Coriolanus. Never shame to hear +What you have nobly done. + +CORIOLANUS. +Your Honours, pardon. +I had rather have my wounds to heal again +Than hear say how I got them. + +BRUTUS. +Sir, I hope +My words disbenched you not? + +CORIOLANUS. +No, sir. Yet oft, +When blows have made me stay, I fled from words. +You soothed not, therefore hurt not; but your people, +I love them as they weigh. + +MENENIUS. +Pray now, sit down. + +CORIOLANUS. +I had rather have one scratch my head i’ th’ sun +When the alarum were struck than idly sit +To hear my nothings monstered. + +[_Exit._] + +MENENIUS. +Masters of the people, +Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter— +That’s thousand to one good one—when you now see +He had rather venture all his limbs for honour +Than one on’s ears to hear it?—Proceed, Cominius. + +COMINIUS. +I shall lack voice. The deeds of Coriolanus +Should not be uttered feebly. It is held +That valour is the chiefest virtue and +Most dignifies the haver; if it be, +The man I speak of cannot in the world +Be singly counterpoised. At sixteen years, +When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought +Beyond the mark of others. Our then dictator, +Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight +When with his Amazonian chin he drove +The bristled lips before him. He bestrid +An o’erpressed Roman and i’ th’ Consul’s view +Slew three opposers. Tarquin’s self he met +And struck him on his knee. In that day’s feats, +When he might act the woman in the scene, +He proved best man i’ th’ field and for his meed +Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age +Man-entered thus, he waxed like a sea, +And in the brunt of seventeen battles since +He lurched all swords of the garland. For this last, +Before and in Corioles, let me say, +I cannot speak him home. He stopped the flyers +And by his rare example made the coward +Turn terror into sport. As weeds before +A vessel under sail, so men obeyed +And fell below his stem. His sword, Death’s stamp, +Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot +He was a thing of blood, whose every motion +Was timed with dying cries. Alone he entered +The mortal gate o’ th’ city, which he painted +With shunless destiny; aidless came off +And with a sudden reinforcement struck +Corioles like a planet. Now all’s his, +When by and by the din of war gan pierce +His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit +Requickened what in flesh was fatigate, +And to the battle came he, where he did +Run reeking o’er the lives of men as if +’Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we called +Both field and city ours, he never stood +To ease his breast with panting. + +MENENIUS. +Worthy man! + +FIRST SENATOR. +He cannot but with measure fit the honours +Which we devise him. + +COMINIUS. +Our spoils he kicked at; +And looked upon things precious as they were +The common muck of the world. He covets less +Than misery itself would give, rewards +His deeds with doing them, and is content +To spend the time to end it. + +MENENIUS. +He’s right noble. +Let him be called for. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Call Coriolanus. + +OFFICER. +He doth appear. + +Enter Coriolanus. + +MENENIUS. +The Senate, Coriolanus, are well pleased +To make thee consul. + +CORIOLANUS. +I do owe them still +My life and services. + +MENENIUS. +It then remains +That you do speak to the people. + +CORIOLANUS. +I do beseech you +Let me o’erleap that custom, for I cannot +Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them +For my wounds’ sake to give their suffrage. Please you +That I may pass this doing. + +SICINIUS. +Sir, the people +Must have their voices; neither will they bate +One jot of ceremony. + +MENENIUS. +Put them not to’t. +Pray you, go fit you to the custom, and +Take to you, as your predecessors have, +Your honour with your form. + +CORIOLANUS. +It is a part +That I shall blush in acting, and might well +Be taken from the people. + +BRUTUS. +Mark you that? + +CORIOLANUS. +To brag unto them, “thus I did, and thus!” +Show them th’ unaching scars which I should hide, +As if I had received them for the hire +Of their breath only! + +MENENIUS. +Do not stand upon’t.— +We recommend to you, tribunes of the people, +Our purpose to them, and to our noble consul +Wish we all joy and honour. + +SENATORS. +To Coriolanus come all joy and honour! + +[_Flourish cornets. Exeunt all but Sicinius and Brutus._] + +BRUTUS. +You see how he intends to use the people. + +SICINIUS. +May they perceive’s intent! He will require them +As if he did contemn what he requested +Should be in them to give. + +BRUTUS. +Come, we’ll inform them +Of our proceedings here. On th’ marketplace +I know they do attend us. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Rome. The Forum + +Enter seven or eight Citizens. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +We may, sir, if we will. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no +power to do; for, if he show us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we +are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them. So, if he +tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of +them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful +were to make a monster of the multitude, of the which we being members, +should bring ourselves to be monstrous members. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve; for once +we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the +many-headed multitude. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some +black, some auburn, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely +coloured; and truly I think if all our wits were to issue out of one +skull, they would fly east, west, north, south, and their consent of +one direct way should be at once to all the points o’ th’ compass. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would fly? + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man’s will; ’tis strongly +wedged up in a blockhead. But if it were at liberty, ’twould, sure, +southward. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Why that way? + +THIRD CITIZEN. +To lose itself in a fog, where being three parts melted away with +rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience’ sake, to help to +get thee a wife. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +You are never without your tricks. You may, you may. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Are you all resolved to give your voices? But that’s no matter; the +greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, +there was never a worthier man. + +Enter Coriolanus in a gown of humility, with Menenius. + +Here he comes, and in the gown of humility. Mark his behaviour. We are +not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, +by twos, and by threes. He’s to make his requests by particulars, +wherein everyone of us has a single honour in giving him our own voices +with our own tongues. Therefore follow me, and I’ll direct you how you +shall go by him. + +ALL. +Content, content. + +[_Exeunt._] + +MENENIUS. +O sir, you are not right. Have you not known +The worthiest men have done’t? + +CORIOLANUS. +What must I say? +“I pray, sir”—plague upon’t! I cannot bring +My tongue to such a pace. “Look, sir, my wounds! +I got them in my country’s service when +Some certain of your brethren roared and ran +From th’ noise of our own drums.” + +MENENIUS. +O me, the gods! +You must not speak of that. You must desire them +To think upon you. + +CORIOLANUS. +Think upon me! Hang ’em! +I would they would forget me, like the virtues +Which our divines lose by ’em. + +MENENIUS. +You’ll mar all. +I’ll leave you. Pray you speak to ’em, I pray you, +In wholesome manner. + +[_Exit Menenius._] + +CORIOLANUS. +Bid them wash their faces +And keep their teeth clean. + +Enter three of the Citizens. + +So, here comes a brace. +You know the cause, sirs, of my standing here. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +We do, sir. Tell us what hath brought you to’t. + +CORIOLANUS. +Mine own desert. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Your own desert? + +CORIOLANUS. +Ay, but not mine own desire. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +How, not your own desire? + +CORIOLANUS. +No, sir, ’twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor with begging. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +You must think if we give you anything, we hope to gain by you. + +CORIOLANUS. +Well then, I pray, your price o’ th’ consulship? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +The price is to ask it kindly. + +CORIOLANUS. +Kindly, sir, I pray, let me ha’t. I have wounds to show you, which +shall be yours in private.—Your good voice, sir. What say you? + +SECOND CITIZEN. +You shall ha’ it, worthy sir. + +CORIOLANUS. +A match, sir. There’s in all two worthy voices begged. I have your +alms. Adieu. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +But this is something odd. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +An ’twere to give again—but ’tis no matter. + +[_Exeunt two citizens._] + +Enter two other Citizens. + +CORIOLANUS. +Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may +be consul, I have here the customary gown. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved +nobly. + +CORIOLANUS. +Your enigma? + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +You have been a scourge to her enemies; you have been a rod to her +friends. You have not indeed loved the common people. + +CORIOLANUS. +You should account me the more virtuous that I have not been common in +my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, the people, to earn a +dearer estimation of them; ’tis a condition they account gentle. And +since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my +heart, I will practise the insinuating nod and be off to them most +counterfeitly. That is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some +popular man and give it bountiful to the desirers. Therefore, beseech +you, I may be consul. + +FIFTH CITIZEN. +We hope to find you our friend, and therefore give you our voices +heartily. + +FOURTH CITIZEN. +You have received many wounds for your country. + +CORIOLANUS. +I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of +your voices and so trouble you no farther. + +BOTH CITIZENS. +The gods give you joy, sir, heartily. + +[_Exeunt citizens._] + +CORIOLANUS. +Most sweet voices! +Better it is to die, better to starve, +Than crave the hire which first we do deserve. +Why in this wolvish toge should I stand here +To beg of Hob and Dick that does appear +Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to’t. +What custom wills, in all things should we do’t? +The dust on antique time would lie unswept +And mountainous error be too highly heaped +For truth to o’erpeer. Rather than fool it so, +Let the high office and the honour go +To one that would do thus. I am half through; +The one part suffered, the other will I do. + + +Enter three Citizens more. + +Here come more voices. +Your voices! For your voices I have fought; +Watched for your voices; for your voices bear +Of wounds two dozen odd. Battles thrice six +I have seen and heard of; for your voices have +Done many things, some less, some more. Your voices! +Indeed, I would be consul. + +SIXTH CITIZEN. +He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man’s voice. + +SEVENTH CITIZEN. +Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him joy, and make him good +friend to the people! + +ALL THREE CITIZENS. +Amen, amen. God save thee, noble consul. + +[_Exeunt citizens._] + +CORIOLANUS. +Worthy voices! + +Enter Menenius with Brutus and Sicinius. + +MENENIUS. +You have stood your limitation, and the Tribunes +Endue you with the people’s voice. Remains +That in th’ official marks invested, you +Anon do meet the Senate. + +CORIOLANUS. +Is this done? + +SICINIUS. +The custom of request you have discharged. +The people do admit you, and are summoned +To meet anon upon your approbation. + +CORIOLANUS. +Where? At the Senate House? + +SICINIUS. +There, Coriolanus. + +CORIOLANUS. +May I change these garments? + +SICINIUS. +You may, sir. + +CORIOLANUS. +That I’ll straight do and, knowing myself again, +Repair to th’ Senate House. + +MENENIUS. +I’ll keep you company.—Will you along? + +BRUTUS. +We stay here for the people. + +SICINIUS. +Fare you well. + +[_Exeunt Coriolanus and Menenius._] + +He has it now; and by his looks, methinks, +’Tis warm at his heart. + +BRUTUS. +With a proud heart he wore +His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people? + +Enter the Pebleians. + +SICINIUS. +How now, my masters, have you chose this man? + +FIRST CITIZEN. +He has our voices, sir. + +BRUTUS. +We pray the gods he may deserve your loves. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice, +He mocked us when he begged our voices. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +Certainly, he flouted us downright. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +No, ’tis his kind of speech. He did not mock us. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says +He used us scornfully. He should have showed us +His marks of merit, wounds received for’s country. + +SICINIUS. +Why, so he did, I am sure. + +ALL. +No, no. No man saw ’em. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +He said he had wounds, which he could show in private, +And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn, +“I would be consul,” says he; “aged custom, +But by your voices, will not so permit me; +Your voices therefore.” When we granted that, +Here was “I thank you for your voices. Thank you. +Your most sweet voices! Now you have left your voices, +I have no further with you.” Was not this mockery? + +SICINIUS. +Why either were you ignorant to see’t +Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness +To yield your voices? + +BRUTUS. +Could you not have told him +As you were lessoned? When he had no power, +But was a petty servant to the state, +He was your enemy, ever spake against +Your liberties and the charters that you bear +I’ th’ body of the weal; and, now arriving +A place of potency and sway o’ th’ state, +If he should still malignantly remain +Fast foe to th’ plebeii, your voices might +Be curses to yourselves. You should have said +That as his worthy deeds did claim no less +Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature +Would think upon you for your voices, and +Translate his malice towards you into love, +Standing your friendly lord. + +SICINIUS. +Thus to have said, +As you were fore-advised, had touched his spirit +And tried his inclination; from him plucked +Either his gracious promise, which you might, +As cause had called you up, have held him to; +Or else it would have galled his surly nature, +Which easily endures not article +Tying him to aught. So putting him to rage, +You should have ta’en th’ advantage of his choler +And passed him unelected. + +BRUTUS. +Did you perceive +He did solicit you in free contempt +When he did need your loves, and do you think +That his contempt shall not be bruising to you +When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies +No heart among you? Or had you tongues to cry +Against the rectorship of judgment? + +SICINIUS. +Have you ere now denied the asker, and now +Again, of him that did not ask but mock, +Bestow your sued-for tongues? + +THIRD CITIZEN. +He’s not confirmed. +We may deny him yet. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +And will deny him. +I’ll have five hundred voices of that sound. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +I twice five hundred, and their friends to piece ’em. + +BRUTUS. +Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends +They have chose a consul that will from them take +Their liberties, make them of no more voice +Than dogs that are as often beat for barking +As therefore kept to do so. + +SICINIUS. +Let them assemble +And, on a safer judgment, all revoke +Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride +And his old hate unto you. Besides, forget not +With what contempt he wore the humble weed, +How in his suit he scorned you; but your loves, +Thinking upon his services, took from you +Th’ apprehension of his present portance, +Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion +After the inveterate hate he bears you. + +BRUTUS. +Lay +A fault on us, your tribunes, that we laboured, +No impediment between, but that you must +Cast your election on him. + +SICINIUS. +Say you chose him +More after our commandment than as guided +By your own true affections, and that your minds, +Preoccupied with what you rather must do +Than what you should, made you against the grain +To voice him consul. Lay the fault on us. + +BRUTUS. +Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you, +How youngly he began to serve his country, +How long continued, and what stock he springs of, +The noble house o’ th’ Martians, from whence came +That Ancus Martius, Numa’s daughter’s son, +Who, after great Hostilius here was king, +Of the same house Publius and Quintus were, +That our best water brought by conduits hither; +And Censorinus, that was so surnamed, +And nobly named so, twice being censor, +Was his great ancestor. + +SICINIUS. +One thus descended, +That hath beside well in his person wrought +To be set high in place, we did commend +To your remembrances; but you have found, +Scaling his present bearing with his past, +That he’s your fixed enemy, and revoke +Your sudden approbation. + +BRUTUS. +Say you ne’er had done’t— +Harp on that still—but by our putting on. +And presently when you have drawn your number, +Repair to th’ Capitol. + +ALL. +We will so. Almost all +Repent in their election. + +[_Exeunt Plebeians._] + +BRUTUS. +Let them go on. +This mutiny were better put in hazard +Than stay, past doubt, for greater. +If, as his nature is, he fall in rage +With their refusal, both observe and answer +The vantage of his anger. + +SICINIUS. +To th’ Capitol, come. +We will be there before the stream o’ th’ people, +And this shall seem, as partly ’tis, their own, +Which we have goaded onward. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Rome. A street + + +Cornets. Enter Coriolanus, Menenius, all the Gentry, Cominius, Titus +Lartius and other Senators. + +CORIOLANUS. +Tullus Aufidius then had made new head? + +LARTIUS. +He had, my lord, and that it was which caused +Our swifter composition. + +CORIOLANUS. +So then the Volsces stand but as at first, +Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road +Upon’s again. + +COMINIUS. +They are worn, lord consul, so +That we shall hardly in our ages see +Their banners wave again. + +CORIOLANUS. +Saw you Aufidius? + +LARTIUS. +On safeguard he came to me, and did curse +Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely +Yielded the town. He is retired to Antium. + +CORIOLANUS. +Spoke he of me? + +LARTIUS. +He did, my lord. + +CORIOLANUS. +How? What? + +LARTIUS. +How often he had met you sword to sword; +That of all things upon the earth he hated +Your person most; that he would pawn his fortunes +To hopeless restitution, so he might +Be called your vanquisher. + +CORIOLANUS. +At Antium lives he? + +LARTIUS. +At Antium. + +CORIOLANUS. +I wish I had a cause to seek him there, +To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home. + +Enter Sicinius and Brutus. + +Behold, these are the tribunes of the people, +The tongues o’ th’ common mouth. I do despise them, +For they do prank them in authority +Against all noble sufferance. + +SICINIUS. +Pass no further. + +CORIOLANUS. +Ha? What is that? + +BRUTUS. +It will be dangerous to go on. No further. + +CORIOLANUS. +What makes this change? + +MENENIUS. +The matter? + +COMINIUS. +Hath he not passed the noble and the common? + +BRUTUS. +Cominius, no. + +CORIOLANUS. +Have I had children’s voices? + +FIRST SENATOR. +Tribunes, give way. He shall to the marketplace. + +BRUTUS. +The people are incensed against him. + +SICINIUS. +Stop, +Or all will fall in broil. + +CORIOLANUS. +Are these your herd? +Must these have voices, that can yield them now +And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices? +You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth? +Have you not set them on? + +MENENIUS. +Be calm, be calm. + +CORIOLANUS. +It is a purposed thing, and grows by plot, +To curb the will of the nobility. +Suffer’t, and live with such as cannot rule +Nor ever will be ruled. + +BRUTUS. +Call’t not a plot. +The people cry you mocked them; and, of late, +When corn was given them gratis, you repined, +Scandaled the suppliants for the people, called them +Timepleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness. + +CORIOLANUS. +Why, this was known before. + +BRUTUS. +Not to them all. + +CORIOLANUS. +Have you informed them sithence? + +BRUTUS. +How? I inform them? + +COMINIUS. +You are like to do such business. + +BRUTUS. +Not unlike, each way, to better yours. + +CORIOLANUS. +Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds, +Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me +Your fellow tribune. + +SICINIUS. +You show too much of that +For which the people stir. If you will pass +To where you are bound, you must inquire your way, +Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit, +Or never be so noble as a consul, +Nor yoke with him for tribune. + +MENENIUS. +Let’s be calm. + +COMINIUS. +The people are abused, set on. This palt’ring +Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus +Deserved this so dishonoured rub, laid falsely +I’ th’ plain way of his merit. + +CORIOLANUS. +Tell me of corn? +This was my speech, and I will speak’t again. + +MENENIUS. +Not now, not now. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Not in this heat, sir, now. + +CORIOLANUS. +Now, as I live, I will. +My nobler friends, I crave their pardons. For +The mutable, rank-scented many, let them +Regard me, as I do not flatter, and +Therein behold themselves. I say again, +In soothing them we nourish ’gainst our senate +The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition, +Which we ourselves have ploughed for, sowed, and scattered +By mingling them with us, the honoured number, +Who lack not virtue, no, nor power, but that +Which they have given to beggars. + +MENENIUS. +Well, no more. + +FIRST SENATOR. +No more words, we beseech you. + +CORIOLANUS. +How? No more? +As for my country I have shed my blood, +Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs +Coin words till their decay against those measles +Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought +The very way to catch them. + +BRUTUS. +You speak o’ th’ people +As if you were a god to punish, not +A man of their infirmity. + +SICINIUS. +’Twere well +We let the people know’t. + +MENENIUS. +What, what? His choler? + +CORIOLANUS. +Choler? +Were I as patient as the midnight sleep, +By Jove, ’twould be my mind. + +SICINIUS. +It is a mind +That shall remain a poison where it is, +Not poison any further. + +CORIOLANUS. +“Shall remain”? +Hear you this Triton of the minnows? Mark you +His absolute “shall”? + +COMINIUS. +’Twas from the canon. + +CORIOLANUS. +“Shall”? +O good but most unwise patricians, why, +You grave but reckless senators, have you thus +Given Hydra leave to choose an officer, +That with his peremptory “shall,” being but +The horn and noise o’ th’ monster’s, wants not spirit +To say he’ll turn your current in a ditch +And make your channel his? If he have power, +Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake +Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned, +Be not as common fools; if you are not, +Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians, +If they be senators; and they are no less +When, both your voices blended, the great’st taste +Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate, +And such a one as he, who puts his “shall,” +His popular “shall,” against a graver bench +Than ever frowned in Greece. By Jove himself, +It makes the consuls base! And my soul aches +To know, when two authorities are up, +Neither supreme, how soon confusion +May enter ’twixt the gap of both and take +The one by th’ other. + +COMINIUS. +Well, on to th’ marketplace. + +CORIOLANUS. +Whoever gave that counsel to give forth +The corn o’ th’ storehouse gratis, as ’twas used +Sometime in Greece— + +MENENIUS. +Well, well, no more of that. + +CORIOLANUS. +Though there the people had more absolute power, +I say they nourished disobedience, fed +The ruin of the state. + +BRUTUS. +Why shall the people give +One that speaks thus their voice? + +CORIOLANUS. +I’ll give my reasons, +More worthier than their voices. They know the corn +Was not our recompense, resting well assured +They ne’er did service for’t. Being pressed to th’ war, +Even when the navel of the state was touched, +They would not thread the gates. This kind of service +Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i’ th’ war, +Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they showed +Most valour, spoke not for them. Th’ accusation +Which they have often made against the Senate, +All cause unborn, could never be the native +Of our so frank donation. Well, what then? +How shall this bosom multitude digest +The senate’s courtesy? Let deeds express +What’s like to be their words: “We did request it; +We are the greater poll, and in true fear +They gave us our demands.” Thus we debase +The nature of our seats and make the rabble +Call our cares fears, which will in time +Break ope the locks o’ th’ Senate and bring in +The crows to peck the eagles. + +MENENIUS. +Come, enough. + +BRUTUS. +Enough, with over-measure. + +CORIOLANUS. +No, take more! +What may be sworn by, both divine and human, +Seal what I end withal! This double worship— +Where one part does disdain with cause, the other +Insult without all reason, where gentry, title, wisdom +Cannot conclude but by the yea and no +Of general ignorance—it must omit +Real necessities and give way the while +To unstable slightness. Purpose so barred, it follows +Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you— +You that will be less fearful than discreet, +That love the fundamental part of state +More than you doubt the change on’t, that prefer +A noble life before a long, and wish +To jump a body with a dangerous physic +That’s sure of death without it—at once pluck out +The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick +The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour +Mangles true judgment and bereaves the state +Of that integrity which should become’t, +Not having the power to do the good it would +For th’ ill which doth control’t. + +BRUTUS. +’Has said enough. + +SICINIUS. +’Has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer +As traitors do. + +CORIOLANUS. +Thou wretch, despite o’erwhelm thee! +What should the people do with these bald tribunes, +On whom depending, their obedience fails +To th’ greater bench. In a rebellion, +When what’s not meet but what must be was law, +Then were they chosen. In a better hour, +Let what is meet be said it must be meet, +And throw their power i’ th’ dust. + +BRUTUS. +Manifest treason. + +SICINIUS. +This a consul? No. + +BRUTUS. +The aediles, ho! Let him be apprehended. + +Enter an Aedile. + +SICINIUS. +Go call the people; + +[_Exit Aedile._] + +in whose name myself +Attach thee as a traitorous innovator, +A foe to th’ public weal. Obey, I charge thee, +And follow to thine answer. + +CORIOLANUS. +Hence, old goat. + +ALL PATRICIANS. +We’ll surety him. + +COMINIUS. +[_to Sicinius_.] Aged sir, hands off. + +CORIOLANUS. +[_to Sicinius_.] Hence, rotten thing, or I shall shake thy bones +Out of thy garments. + +SICINIUS. +Help, ye citizens! + +Enter a rabble of Plebeians with the Aediles. + +MENENIUS. +On both sides more respect! + +SICINIUS. +Here’s he that would take from you all your power. + +BRUTUS. +Seize him, aediles. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Down with him, down with him! + +SECOND SENATOR. +Weapons, weapons, weapons! + +[_They all bustle about Coriolanus._] + +Tribunes, patricians, citizens, what, ho! +Sicinius, Brutus, Coriolanus, citizens! + +ALL. +Peace, peace, peace! Stay, hold, peace! + +MENENIUS. +What is about to be? I am out of breath. +Confusion’s near. I cannot speak. You tribunes +To th’ people!—Coriolanus, patience!— +Speak, good Sicinius. + +SICINIUS. +Hear me, people! Peace! + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Let’s hear our tribune. Peace! Speak, speak, speak. + +SICINIUS. +You are at point to lose your liberties. +Martius would have all from you, Martius, +Whom late you have named for consul. + +MENENIUS. +Fie, fie, fie! +This is the way to kindle, not to quench. + +FIRST SENATOR. +To unbuild the city and to lay all flat. + +SICINIUS. +What is the city but the people? + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +True, +The people are the city. + +BRUTUS. +By the consent of all, we were established +The people’s magistrates. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +You so remain. + +MENENIUS. +And so are like to do. + +COMINIUS. +That is the way to lay the city flat, +To bring the roof to the foundation +And bury all which yet distinctly ranges +In heaps and piles of ruin. + +SICINIUS. +This deserves death. + +BRUTUS. +Or let us stand to our authority +Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce, +Upon the part o’ th’ people, in whose power +We were elected theirs, Martius is worthy +Of present death. + +SICINIUS. +Therefore lay hold of him, +Bear him to th’ rock Tarpeian, and from thence +Into destruction cast him. + +BRUTUS. +Aediles, seize him! + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Yield, Martius, yield! + +MENENIUS. +Hear me one word. +Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word. + +AEDILES. +Peace, peace! + +MENENIUS. +Be that you seem, truly your country’s friend, +And temp’rately proceed to what you would +Thus violently redress. + +BRUTUS. +Sir, those cold ways, +That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous +Where the disease is violent.—Lay hands upon him, +And bear him to the rock. + +[_Coriolanus draws his sword._] + +CORIOLANUS. +No; I’ll die here. +There’s some among you have beheld me fighting. +Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me. + +MENENIUS. +Down with that sword!—Tribunes, withdraw awhile. + +BRUTUS. +Lay hands upon him! + +MENENIUS. +Help Martius, help! +You that be noble, help him, young and old! + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Down with him, down with him! + +[_In this mutiny the Tribunes, the Aediles and the People are beat +in._] + +MENENIUS. +Go, get you to your house. Begone, away. +All will be naught else. + +SECOND SENATOR. +Get you gone. + +CORIOLANUS. +Stand fast! +We have as many friends as enemies. + +MENENIUS. +Shall it be put to that? + +FIRST SENATOR. +The gods forbid! +I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house; +Leave us to cure this cause. + +MENENIUS. +For ’tis a sore upon us +You cannot tent yourself. Begone, beseech you. + +COMINIUS. +Come, sir, along with us. + +CORIOLANUS. +I would they were barbarians, as they are, +Though in Rome littered, not Romans, as they are not, +Though calved i’ th’ porch o’ th’ Capitol. + +MENENIUS. +Begone! +Put not your worthy rage into your tongue. +One time will owe another. + +CORIOLANUS. +On fair ground +I could beat forty of them. + +MENENIUS. +I could myself +Take up a brace o’ th’ best of them, yea, the two tribunes. + +COMINIUS. +But now ’tis odds beyond arithmetic, +And manhood is called foolery when it stands +Against a falling fabric. Will you hence, +Before the tag return, whose rage doth rend +Like interrupted waters, and o’erbear +What they are used to bear? + +MENENIUS. +Pray you, begone. +I’ll try whether my old wit be in request +With those that have but little. This must be patched +With cloth of any colour. + +COMINIUS. +Nay, come away. + +[_Exeunt Coriolanus and Cominius._] + +PATRICIAN. +This man has marred his fortune. + +MENENIUS. +His nature is too noble for the world. +He would not flatter Neptune for his trident +Or Jove for’s power to thunder. His heart’s his mouth; +What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent, +And, being angry, does forget that ever +He heard the name of death. + +[_A noise within._] + +Here’s goodly work. + +PATRICIAN. +I would they were abed! + +MENENIUS. +I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance, +Could he not speak ’em fair? + +Enter Brutus and Sicinius with the rabble again. + +SICINIUS. +Where is this viper +That would depopulate the city and +Be every man himself? + +MENENIUS. +You worthy tribunes— + +SICINIUS. +He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock +With rigorous hands. He hath resisted law, +And therefore law shall scorn him further trial +Than the severity of the public power +Which he so sets at naught. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +He shall well know +The noble tribunes are the people’s mouths, +And we their hands. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +He shall, sure on’t. + +MENENIUS. +Sir, sir— + +SICINIUS. +Peace! + +MENENIUS. +Do not cry havoc where you should but hunt +With modest warrant. + +SICINIUS. +Sir, how comes’t that you +Have holp to make this rescue? + +MENENIUS. +Hear me speak. +As I do know the Consul’s worthiness, +So can I name his faults. + +SICINIUS. +Consul? What consul? + +MENENIUS. +The consul Coriolanus. + +BRUTUS. +He consul? + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +No, no, no, no, no! + +MENENIUS. +If, by the Tribunes’ leave, and yours, good people, +I may be heard, I would crave a word or two, +The which shall turn you to no further harm +Than so much loss of time. + +SICINIUS. +Speak briefly then, +For we are peremptory to dispatch +This viperous traitor. To eject him hence +Were but one danger, and to keep him here +Our certain death. Therefore it is decreed +He dies tonight. + +MENENIUS. +Now the good gods forbid +That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude +Towards her deserved children is enrolled +In Jove’s own book, like an unnatural dam +Should now eat up her own. + +SICINIUS. +He’s a disease that must be cut away. + +MENENIUS. +O, he’s a limb that has but a disease— +Mortal to cut it off; to cure it easy. +What has he done to Rome that’s worthy death? +Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost— +Which I dare vouch is more than that he hath +By many an ounce—he dropt it for his country; +And what is left, to lose it by his country +Were to us all, that do’t and suffer it +A brand to th’ end o’ th’ world. + +SICINIUS. +This is clean cam. + +BRUTUS. +Merely awry. When he did love his country, +It honoured him. + +MENENIUS. +The service of the foot, +Being once gangrened, is not then respected +For what before it was. + +BRUTUS. +We’ll hear no more. +Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence, +Lest his infection, being of catching nature, +Spread further. + +MENENIUS. +One word more, one word! +This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find +The harm of unscanned swiftness, will too late, +Tie leaden pounds to’s heels. Proceed by process, +Lest parties—as he is beloved—break out +And sack great Rome with Romans. + +BRUTUS. +If it were so— + +SICINIUS. +What do ye talk? +Have we not had a taste of his obedience? +Our aediles smote! Ourselves resisted? Come. + +MENENIUS. +Consider this: he has been bred i’ th’ wars +Since he could draw a sword, and is ill schooled +In bolted language; meal and bran together +He throws without distinction. Give me leave, +I’ll go to him and undertake to bring him +Where he shall answer by a lawful form, +In peace, to his utmost peril. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Noble tribunes, +It is the humane way: the other course +Will prove too bloody, and the end of it +Unknown to the beginning. + +SICINIUS. +Noble Menenius, +Be you then as the people’s officer.— +Masters, lay down your weapons. + +BRUTUS. +Go not home. + +SICINIUS. +Meet on the marketplace. We’ll attend you there, +Where if you bring not Martius, we’ll proceed +In our first way. + +MENENIUS. +I’ll bring him to you. +[_To Senators_.] Let me desire your company. He must come, +Or what is worst will follow. + +FIRST SENATOR. +Pray you, let’s to him. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rome. A room in Coriolanus’s house + +Enter Coriolanus with Nobles. + +CORIOLANUS. +Let them pull all about mine ears, present me +Death on the wheel or at wild horses’ heels, +Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock, +That the precipitation might down stretch +Below the beam of sight, yet will I still +Be thus to them. + +FIRST PATRICIAN. +You do the nobler. + +CORIOLANUS. +I muse my mother +Does not approve me further, who was wont +To call them woollen vassals, things created +To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads +In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder +When one but of my ordinance stood up +To speak of peace or war. + +Enter Volumnia. + +I talk of you. +Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me +False to my nature? Rather say I play +The man I am. + +VOLUMNIA. +O, sir, sir, sir, +I would have had you put your power well on +Before you had worn it out. + +CORIOLANUS. +Let go. + +VOLUMNIA. +You might have been enough the man you are +With striving less to be so. Lesser had been +The thwartings of your dispositions if +You had not showed them how ye were disposed +Ere they lacked power to cross you. + +CORIOLANUS. +Let them hang! + +VOLUMNIA. +Ay, and burn too. + +Enter Menenius with the Senators. + +MENENIUS. +Come, come, you have been too rough, something too rough. +You must return and mend it. + +FIRST SENATOR. +There’s no remedy, +Unless, by not so doing, our good city +Cleave in the midst and perish. + +VOLUMNIA. +Pray be counselled. +I have a heart as little apt as yours, +But yet a brain that leads my use of anger +To better vantage. + +MENENIUS. +Well said, noble woman. +Before he should thus stoop to th’ herd—but that +The violent fit o’ th’ time craves it as physic +For the whole state—I would put mine armour on, +Which I can scarcely bear. + +CORIOLANUS. +What must I do? + +MENENIUS. +Return to th’ Tribunes. + +CORIOLANUS. +Well, what then? What then? + +MENENIUS. +Repent what you have spoke. + +CORIOLANUS. +For them? I cannot do it to the gods. +Must I then do’t to them? + +VOLUMNIA. +You are too absolute, +Though therein you can never be too noble +But when extremities speak. I have heard you say +Honour and policy, like unsevered friends, +I’ th’ war do grow together. Grant that, and tell me +In peace what each of them by th’ other lose +That they combine not there. + +CORIOLANUS. +Tush, tush! + +MENENIUS. +A good demand. + +VOLUMNIA. +If it be honour in your wars to seem +The same you are not, which for your best ends +You adopt your policy, how is it less or worse +That it shall hold companionship in peace +With honour as in war, since that to both +It stands in like request? + +CORIOLANUS. +Why force you this? + +VOLUMNIA. +Because that now it lies you on to speak +To th’ people, not by your own instruction, +Nor by th’ matter which your heart prompts you, +But with such words that are but rooted in +Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables +Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth. +Now, this no more dishonours you at all +Than to take in a town with gentle words, +Which else would put you to your fortune and +The hazard of much blood. +I would dissemble with my nature where +My fortunes and my friends at stake required +I should do so in honour. I am in this +Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles; +And you will rather show our general louts +How you can frown than spend a fawn upon ’em +For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard +Of what that want might ruin. + +MENENIUS. +Noble lady!— +Come, go with us; speak fair. You may salve so, +Not what is dangerous present, but the loss +Of what is past. + +VOLUMNIA. +I prithee now, my son, +Go to them with this bonnet in thy hand, +And thus far having stretched it—here be with them— +Thy knee bussing the stones—for in such busines +Action is eloquence, and the eyes of th’ ignorant +More learned than the ears—waving thy head, +Which often thus correcting thy stout heart, +Now humble as the ripest mulberry +That will not hold the handling. Or say to them +Thou art their soldier and, being bred in broils, +Hast not the soft way, which thou dost confess +Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, +In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame +Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far +As thou hast power and person. + +MENENIUS. +This but done +Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours; +For they have pardons, being asked, as free +As words to little purpose. + +VOLUMNIA. +Prithee now, +Go, and be ruled; although I know thou hadst rather +Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf +Than flatter him in a bower. + +Enter Cominius. + +Here is Cominius. + +COMINIUS. +I have been i’ th’ marketplace; and, sir, ’tis fit +You make strong party or defend yourself +By calmness or by absence. All’s in anger. + +MENENIUS. +Only fair speech. + +COMINIUS. +I think ’twill serve, if he +Can thereto frame his spirit. + +VOLUMNIA. +He must, and will.— +Prithee, now, say you will, and go about it. + +CORIOLANUS. +Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce? Must I +With my base tongue give to my noble heart +A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do’t. +Yet, were there but this single plot to lose, +This mould of Martius, they to dust should grind it +And throw’t against the wind. To th’ marketplace! +You have put me now to such a part which never +I shall discharge to th’ life. + +COMINIUS. +Come, come, we’ll prompt you. + +VOLUMNIA. +I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said +My praises made thee first a soldier, so, +To have my praise for this, perform a part +Thou hast not done before. + +CORIOLANUS. +Well, I must do’t. +Away, my disposition, and possess me +Some harlot’s spirit! My throat of war be turned, +Which choired with my drum, into a pipe +Small as an eunuch or the virgin voice +That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves +Tent in my cheeks, and schoolboys’ tears take up +The glasses of my sight! A beggar’s tongue +Make motion through my lips, and my armed knees, +Who bowed but in my stirrup, bend like his +That hath received an alms! I will not do’t, +Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth +And, by my body’s action, teach my mind +A most inherent baseness. + +VOLUMNIA. +At thy choice, then. +To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour +Than thou of them. Come all to ruin. Let +Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear +Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death +With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list. +Thy valiantness was mine; thou suck’dst it from me, +But owe thy pride thyself. + +CORIOLANUS. +Pray, be content. +Mother, I am going to the marketplace. +Chide me no more. I’ll mountebank their loves, +Cog their hearts from them, and come home beloved +Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going. +Commend me to my wife. I’ll return consul, +Or never trust to what my tongue can do +I’ th’ way of flattery further. + +VOLUMNIA. +Do your will. + +[_Exit Volumnia._] + +COMINIUS. +Away! The Tribunes do attend you. Arm yourself +To answer mildly, for they are prepared +With accusations, as I hear, more strong +Than are upon you yet. + +CORIOLANUS. +The word is “mildly.” Pray you, let us go. +Let them accuse me by invention, I +Will answer in mine honour. + +MENENIUS. +Ay, but mildly. + +CORIOLANUS. +Well, mildly be it, then. Mildly. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Rome. The Forum + +Enter Sicinius and Brutus. + +BRUTUS. +In this point charge him home, that he affects +Tyrannical power. If he evade us there, +Enforce him with his envy to the people, +And that the spoil got on the Antiates +Was ne’er distributed. + +Enter an Aedile. + +What, will he come? + +AEDILE. +He’s coming. + +BRUTUS. +How accompanied? + +AEDILE. +With old Menenius, and those senators +That always favoured him. + +SICINIUS. +Have you a catalogue +Of all the voices that we have procured, +Set down by th’ poll? + +AEDILE. +I have. ’Tis ready. + +SICINIUS. +Have you collected them by tribes? + +AEDILE. +I have. + +SICINIUS. +Assemble presently the people hither; +And when they hear me say “It shall be so +I’ th’ right and strength o’ th’ commons,” be it either +For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them +If I say “Fine,” cry “Fine,” if “Death,” cry “Death,” +Insisting on the old prerogative +And power i’ th’ truth o’ th’ cause. + +AEDILE. +I shall inform them. + +BRUTUS. +And when such time they have begun to cry, +Let them not cease, but with a din confused +Enforce the present execution +Of what we chance to sentence. + +AEDILE. +Very well. + +SICINIUS. +Make them be strong and ready for this hint +When we shall hap to give’t them. + +BRUTUS. +Go about it. + +[_Exit Aedile._] + +Put him to choler straight. He hath been used +Ever to conquer and to have his worth +Of contradiction. Being once chafed, he cannot +Be reined again to temperance; then he speaks +What’s in his heart; and that is there which looks +With us to break his neck. + +Enter Coriolanus, Menenius and Cominius with other Senators. + +SICINIUS. +Well, here he comes. + +MENENIUS. +Calmly, I do beseech you. + +CORIOLANUS. +Ay, as an ostler, that for th’ poorest piece +Will bear the knave by th’ volume.—Th’ honoured gods +Keep Rome in safety and the chairs of justice +Supplied with worthy men! Plant love among’s! +Throng our large temples with the shows of peace +And not our streets with war! + +FIRST SENATOR. +Amen, amen. + +MENENIUS. +A noble wish. + +Enter the Aedile with the Plebeians. + +SICINIUS. +Draw near, ye people. + +AEDILE. +List to your tribunes. Audience! Peace, I say! + +CORIOLANUS. +First, hear me speak. + +BOTH TRIBUNES. +Well, say.—Peace, ho! + +CORIOLANUS. +Shall I be charged no further than this present? +Must all determine here? + +SICINIUS. +I do demand +If you submit you to the people’s voices, +Allow their officers, and are content +To suffer lawful censure for such faults +As shall be proved upon you. + +CORIOLANUS. +I am content. + +MENENIUS. +Lo, citizens, he says he is content. +The warlike service he has done, consider. Think +Upon the wounds his body bears, which show +Like graves i’ th’ holy churchyard. + +CORIOLANUS. +Scratches with briars, +Scars to move laughter only. + +MENENIUS. +Consider further, +That when he speaks not like a citizen, +You find him like a soldier. Do not take +His rougher accents for malicious sounds, +But, as I say, such as become a soldier +Rather than envy you. + +COMINIUS. +Well, well, no more. + +CORIOLANUS. +What is the matter, +That, being passed for consul with full voice, +I am so dishonoured that the very hour +You take it off again? + +SICINIUS. +Answer to us. + +CORIOLANUS. +Say then. ’Tis true, I ought so. + +SICINIUS. +We charge you that you have contrived to take +From Rome all seasoned office and to wind +Yourself into a power tyrannical, +For which you are a traitor to the people. + +CORIOLANUS. +How? Traitor? + +MENENIUS. +Nay, temperately! Your promise. + +CORIOLANUS. +The fires i’ th’ lowest hell fold in the people! +Call me their traitor? Thou injurious tribune! +Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths, +In thy hands clutched as many millions, in +Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say +“Thou liest” unto thee with a voice as free +As I do pray the gods. + +SICINIUS. +Mark you this, people? + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +To th’ rock, to th’ rock with him! + +SICINIUS. +Peace! +We need not put new matter to his charge. +What you have seen him do and heard him speak, +Beating your officers, cursing yourselves, +Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying +Those whose great power must try him—even this, +So criminal and in such capital kind, +Deserves th’ extremest death. + +BRUTUS. +But since he hath +Served well for Rome— + +CORIOLANUS. +What do you prate of service? + +BRUTUS. +I talk of that that know it. + +CORIOLANUS. +You? + +MENENIUS. +Is this the promise that you made your mother? + +COMINIUS. +Know, I pray you— + +CORIOLANUS. +I’ll know no further. +Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death, +Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger +But with a grain a day, I would not buy +Their mercy at the price of one fair word, +Nor check my courage for what they can give, +To have’t with saying “Good morrow.” + +SICINIUS. +For that he has, +As much as in him lies, from time to time +Envied against the people, seeking means +To pluck away their power, as now at last +Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence +Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers +That do distribute it, in the name o’ th’ people +And in the power of us the Tribunes, we, +Even from this instant, banish him our city +In peril of precipitation +From off the rock Tarpeian, never more +To enter our Rome gates. I’ th’ people’s name, +I say it shall be so. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +It shall be so, it shall be so! Let him away! +He’s banished, and it shall be so. + +COMINIUS. +Hear me, my masters and my common friends— + +SICINIUS. +He’s sentenced. No more hearing. + +COMINIUS. +Let me speak. +I have been consul and can show for Rome +Her enemies’ marks upon me. I do love +My country’s good with a respect more tender, +More holy and profound, than mine own life, +My dear wife’s estimate, her womb’s increase, +And treasure of my loins. Then if I would +Speak that— + +SICINIUS. +We know your drift. Speak what? + +BRUTUS. +There’s no more to be said, but he is banished +As enemy to the people and his country. +It shall be so. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +It shall be so, it shall be so! + +CORIOLANUS. +You common cry of curs, whose breath I hate +As reek o’ th’ rotten fens, whose loves I prize +As the dead carcasses of unburied men +That do corrupt my air, I banish you! +And here remain with your uncertainty; +Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts; +Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes, +Fan you into despair! Have the power still +To banish your defenders, till at length +Your ignorance—which finds not till it feels, +Making but reservation of yourselves, +Still your own foes—deliver you, +As most abated captives to some nation +That won you without blows! Despising +For you the city, thus I turn my back. +There is a world elsewhere. + +[_Exeunt Coriolanus, Cominius, with other Senators._] + +AEDILE. +The people’s enemy is gone, is gone. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Our enemy is banished; he is gone. Hoo, hoo! + +[_They all shout and throw up their caps._] + +SICINIUS. +Go see him out at gates, and follow him, +As he hath followed you, with all despite. +Give him deserved vexation. Let a guard +Attend us through the city. + +ALL PLEBEIANS. +Come, come, let’s see him out at gates! Come! +The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Rome. Before a gate of the city + + +Enter Coriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, Cominius with the young +nobility of Rome. + +CORIOLANUS. +Come, leave your tears. A brief farewell. The beast +With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother, +Where is your ancient courage? You were used +To say extremities was the trier of spirits; +That common chances common men could bear; +That when the sea was calm, all boats alike +Showed mastership in floating; fortune’s blows +When most struck home, being gentle wounded craves +A noble cunning. You were used to load me +With precepts that would make invincible +The heart that conned them. + +VIRGILIA. +O heavens! O heavens! + +CORIOLANUS. +Nay, I prithee, woman— + +VOLUMNIA. +Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, +And occupations perish! + +CORIOLANUS. +What, what, what! +I shall be loved when I am lacked. Nay, mother, +Resume that spirit when you were wont to say +If you had been the wife of Hercules, +Six of his labours you’d have done and saved +Your husband so much sweat.—Cominius, +Droop not. Adieu.—Farewell, my wife, my mother. +I’ll do well yet.—Thou old and true Menenius, +Thy tears are salter than a younger man’s +And venomous to thine eyes.—My sometime general, +I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld +Heart-hard’ning spectacles. Tell these sad women +’Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes +As ’tis to laugh at ’em.—My mother, you wot well +My hazards still have been your solace, and— +Believe’t not lightly—though I go alone, +Like to a lonely dragon that his fen +Makes feared and talked of more than seen, your son +Will or exceed the common or be caught +With cautelous baits and practice. + +VOLUMNIA. +My first son, +Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius +With thee awhile. Determine on some course +More than a wild exposture to each chance +That starts i’ th’ way before thee. + +VIRGILIA. +O the gods! + +COMINIUS. +I’ll follow thee a month, devise with thee +Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us +And we of thee; so if the time thrust forth +A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send +O’er the vast world to seek a single man +And lose advantage, which doth ever cool +I’ th’ absence of the needer. + +CORIOLANUS. +Fare ye well. +Thou hast years upon thee, and thou art too full +Of the wars’ surfeits to go rove with one +That’s yet unbruised. Bring me but out at gate.— +Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and +My friends of noble touch. When I am forth, +Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come. +While I remain above the ground, you shall +Hear from me still, and never of me aught +But what is like me formerly. + +MENENIUS. +That’s worthily +As any ear can hear. Come, let’s not weep. +If I could shake off but one seven years +From these old arms and legs, by the good gods, +I’d with thee every foot. + +CORIOLANUS. +Give me thy hand. +Come. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Rome. A street near the gate + +Enter two Tribunes, Sicinius, Brutus with the Aedile. + +SICINIUS. +Bid them all home. He’s gone, and we’ll no further. +The nobility are vexed, whom we see have sided +In his behalf. + +BRUTUS. +Now we have shown our power, +Let us seem humbler after it is done +Than when it was a-doing. + +SICINIUS. +Bid them home. +Say their great enemy is gone, and they +Stand in their ancient strength. + +BRUTUS. +Dismiss them home. + +[_Exit Aedile._] + +Here comes his mother. + +Enter Volumnia, Virgilia and Menenius. + +SICINIUS. +Let’s not meet her. + +BRUTUS. +Why? + +SICINIUS. +They say she’s mad. + +BRUTUS. +They have ta’en note of us. Keep on your way. + +VOLUMNIA. +O, you’re well met. The hoarded plague o’ th’ gods +Requite your love! + +MENENIUS. +Peace, peace! Be not so loud. + +VOLUMNIA. +If that I could for weeping, you should hear— +Nay, and you shall hear some. [_To Sicinius_.] Will you be gone? + +VIRGILIA. +[_To Brutus_.] You shall stay too. I would I had the power +To say so to my husband. + +SICINIUS. +Are you mankind? + +VOLUMNIA. +Ay, fool, is that a shame? Note but this, fool. +Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship +To banish him that struck more blows for Rome +Than thou hast spoken words? + +SICINIUS. +O blessed heavens! + +VOLUMNIA. +More noble blows than ever thou wise words, +And for Rome’s good. I’ll tell thee what—yet go. +Nay, but thou shalt stay too. I would my son +Were in Arabia and thy tribe before him, +His good sword in his hand. + +SICINIUS. +What then? + +VIRGILIA. +What then? +He’d make an end of thy posterity. + +VOLUMNIA. +Bastards and all. +Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome! + +MENENIUS. +Come, come, peace. + +SICINIUS. +I would he had continued to his country +As he began, and not unknit himself +The noble knot he made. + +BRUTUS. +I would he had. + +VOLUMNIA. +“I would he had?” ’Twas you incensed the rabble. +Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth +As I can of those mysteries which heaven +Will not have Earth to know. + +BRUTUS. +Pray, let’s go. + +VOLUMNIA. +Now, pray, sir, get you gone. +You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this: +As far as doth the Capitol exceed +The meanest house in Rome, so far my son— +This lady’s husband here, this, do you see?— +Whom you have banished, does exceed you all. + +BRUTUS. +Well, well, we’ll leave you. + +SICINIUS. +Why stay we to be baited +With one that wants her wits? + +[_Exeunt Tribunes._] + +VOLUMNIA. +Take my prayers with you. +I would the gods had nothing else to do +But to confirm my curses. Could I meet ’em +But once a day, it would unclog my heart +Of what lies heavy to’t. + +MENENIUS. +You have told them home, +And, by my troth, you have cause. You’ll sup with me? + +VOLUMNIA. +Anger’s my meat. I sup upon myself +And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let’s go. +Leave this faint puling, and lament as I do, +In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come. + +[_Exeunt._] + +MENENIUS. +Fie, fie, fie! + +[_Exit Menenius._] + +SCENE III. A highway between Rome and Antium + +Enter a Roman and a Volsce. + +ROMAN. +I know you well, sir, and you know me. Your name I think is Adrian. + +VOLSCE. +It is so, sir. Truly, I have forgot you. + +ROMAN. +I am a Roman, and my services are, as you are, against ’em. Know you me +yet? + +VOLSCE. +Nicanor, no? + +ROMAN. +The same, sir. + +VOLSCE. +You had more beard when I last saw you, but your favour is well +approved by your tongue. What’s the news in Rome? I have a note from +the Volscian state to find you out there. You have well saved me a +day’s journey. + +ROMAN. +There hath been in Rome strange insurrections, the people against the +senators, patricians, and nobles. + +VOLSCE. +Hath been? Is it ended, then? Our state thinks not so. They are in a +most warlike preparation and hope to come upon them in the heat of +their division. + +ROMAN. +The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make it flame +again; for the nobles receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy +Coriolanus that they are in a ripe aptness to take all power from the +people and to pluck from them their tribunes for ever. This lies +glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking +out. + +VOLSCE. +Coriolanus banished? + +ROMAN. +Banished, sir. + +VOLSCE. +You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor. + +ROMAN. +The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said the fittest time +to corrupt a man’s wife is when she’s fallen out with her husband. Your +noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer +Coriolanus being now in no request of his country. + +VOLSCE. +He cannot choose. I am most fortunate thus accidentally to encounter +you. You have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home. + +ROMAN. +I shall between this and supper tell you most strange things from Rome, +all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, +say you? + +VOLSCE. +A most royal one. The centurions and their charges, distinctly +billeted, already in th’ entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour’s +warning. + +ROMAN. +I am joyful to hear of their readiness and am the man, I think, that +shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most +glad of your company. + +VOLSCE. +You take my part from me, sir. I have the most cause to be glad of +yours. + +ROMAN. +Well, let us go together. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Antium. Before Aufidius’s house + +Enter Coriolanus in mean apparel, disguised and muffled. + +CORIOLANUS. +A goodly city is this Antium. City, +’Tis I that made thy widows. Many an heir +Of these fair edifices ’fore my wars +Have I heard groan and drop. Then know me not, +Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones +In puny battle slay me. + +Enter a Citizen. + +Save you, sir. + +CITIZEN. +And you. + +CORIOLANUS. +Direct me, if it be your will, +Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium? + +CITIZEN. +He is, and feasts the nobles of the state +At his house this night. + +CORIOLANUS. +Which is his house, beseech you? + +CITIZEN. +This here before you. + +CORIOLANUS. +Thank you, sir. Farewell. + +[_Exit Citizen._] + +O world, thy slippery turns! Friends now fast sworn, +Whose double bosoms seems to wear one heart, +Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal and exercise +Are still together, who twin, as ’twere, in love +Unseparable, shall within this hour, +On a dissension of a doit, break out +To bitterest enmity; so fellest foes, +Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep +To take the one the other, by some chance, +Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends +And interjoin their issues. So with me: +My birthplace hate I, and my love’s upon +This enemy town. I’ll enter. If he slay me, +He does fair justice; if he give me way, +I’ll do his country service. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE V. Antium. A hall in Aufidius’s house + +Music plays. Enter a Servingman. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Wine, wine, wine! What service is here? I think our fellows are asleep. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter another Servingman. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Where’s Cotus? My master calls for him. Cotus! + +[_Exit._] + +Enter Coriolanus. + +CORIOLANUS. +A goodly house. The feast smells well, but I +Appear not like a guest. + +Enter the First Servingman. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +What would you have, friend? Whence are you? Here’s no place for you. +Pray go to the door. + +[_Exit._] + +CORIOLANUS. +I have deserved no better entertainment +In being Coriolanus. + +Enter Second Servingman. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Whence are you, sir?—Has the porter his eyes in his head, that he gives +entrance to such companions?—Pray, get you out. + +CORIOLANUS. +Away! + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Away? Get you away. + +CORIOLANUS. +Now th’ art troublesome. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Are you so brave? I’ll have you talked with anon. + +Enter Third Servingman; the First, entering, meets him. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +What fellow’s this? + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +A strange one as ever I looked on. I cannot get him out o’ th’ house. +Prithee call my master to him. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house. + +CORIOLANUS. +Let me but stand. I will not hurt your hearth. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +What are you? + +CORIOLANUS. +A gentleman. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +A marv’llous poor one. + +CORIOLANUS. +True, so I am. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station. Here’s no place +for you. Pray you, avoid. Come. + +CORIOLANUS. +Follow your function, go, and batten on cold bits. + +[_Pushes him away from him_.] + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +What, you will not?—Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has +here. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +And I shall. + +[_Exit._] + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Where dwell’st thou? + +CORIOLANUS. +Under the canopy. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Under the canopy? + +CORIOLANUS. +Ay. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Where’s that? + +CORIOLANUS. +I’ th’ city of kites and crows. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +I’ th’ city of kites and crows? What an ass it is! Then thou dwell’st +with daws too? + +CORIOLANUS. +No, I serve not thy master. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +How, sir? Do you meddle with my master? + +CORIOLANUS. +Ay, ’tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress. Thou +prat’st and prat’st. Serve with thy trencher, hence! + +[_Beats him away_.] + +[_Exit Third Servingman._] + +Enter Aufidius with the Second Servingman. + +AUFIDIUS. +Where is this fellow? + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Here, sir. I’d have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords +within. + +AUFIDIUS. +Whence com’st thou? What wouldst thou? +Thy name? Why speak’st not? Speak, man. What’s thy name? + +CORIOLANUS. +[_Removing his muffler_.] If, Tullus, +Not yet thou know’st me, and, seeing me, dost not +Think me for the man I am, necessity +Commands me name myself. + +AUFIDIUS. +What is thy name? + +CORIOLANUS. +A name unmusical to the Volscians’ ears +And harsh in sound to thine. + +AUFIDIUS. +Say, what’s thy name? +Thou has a grim appearance, and thy face +Bears a command in’t. Though thy tackle’s torn, +Thou show’st a noble vessel. What’s thy name? + +CORIOLANUS. +Prepare thy brow to frown. Know’st thou me yet? + +AUFIDIUS. +I know thee not. Thy name? + +CORIOLANUS. +My name is Caius Martius, who hath done +To thee particularly and to all the Volsces +Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may +My surname Coriolanus. The painful service, +The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood +Shed for my thankless country are requited +But with that surname, a good memory +And witness of the malice and displeasure +Which thou shouldst bear me. Only that name remains. +The cruelty and envy of the people, +Permitted by our dastard nobles, who +Have all forsook me, hath devoured the rest, +And suffered me by th’ voice of slaves to be +Whooped out of Rome. Now this extremity +Hath brought me to thy hearth, not out of hope— +Mistake me not—to save my life; for if +I had feared death, of all the men i’ th’ world +I would have ’voided thee, but in mere spite, +To be full quit of those my banishers, +Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast +A heart of wreak in thee, that wilt revenge +Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims +Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight +And make my misery serve thy turn. So use it +That my revengeful services may prove +As benefits to thee, for I will fight +Against my cankered country with the spleen +Of all the under fiends. But if so be +Thou dar’st not this, and that to prove more fortunes +Thou ’rt tired, then, in a word, I also am +Longer to live most weary, and present +My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice, +Which not to cut would show thee but a fool, +Since I have ever followed thee with hate, +Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country’s breast, +And cannot live but to thy shame, unless +It be to do thee service. + +AUFIDIUS. +O Martius, Martius, +Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart +A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter +Should from yond cloud speak divine things +And say ’tis true, I’d not believe them more +Than thee, all-noble Martius. Let me twine +Mine arms about that body, whereagainst +My grained ash an hundred times hath broke +And scarred the moon with splinters. Here I clip +The anvil of my sword and do contest +As hotly and as nobly with thy love +As ever in ambitious strength I did +Contend against thy valour. Know thou first, +I loved the maid I married; never man +Sighed truer breath. But that I see thee here, +Thou noble thing, more dances my rapt heart +Than when I first my wedded mistress saw +Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars, I tell thee +We have a power on foot, and I had purpose +Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn +Or lose mine arm for’t. Thou hast beat me out +Twelve several times, and I have nightly since +Dreamt of encounters ’twixt thyself and me; +We have been down together in my sleep, +Unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat, +And waked half dead with nothing. Worthy Martius, +Had we no other quarrel else to Rome but that +Thou art thence banished, we would muster all +From twelve to seventy and, pouring war +Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome, +Like a bold flood o’erbear ’t. O, come, go in, +And take our friendly senators by th’ hands, +Who now are here, taking their leaves of me, +Who am prepared against your territories, +Though not for Rome itself. + +CORIOLANUS. +You bless me, gods! + +AUFIDIUS. +Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have +The leading of thine own revenges, take +Th’ one half of my commission and set down— +As best thou art experienced, since thou know’st +Thy country’s strength and weakness—thine own ways, +Whether to knock against the gates of Rome, +Or rudely visit them in parts remote +To fright them ere destroy. But come in. +Let me commend thee first to those that shall +Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes! +And more a friend than e’er an enemy— +Yet, Martius, that was much. Your hand. Most welcome! + +[_Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius._] + +Two of the Servingmen come forward. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Here’s a strange alteration! + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel, and yet +my mind gave me his clothes made a false report of him. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +What an arm he has! He turned me about with his finger and his thumb as +one would set up a top. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him. He had, sir, a +kind of face, methought—I cannot tell how to term it. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +He had so, looking as it were—Would I were hanged, but I thought there +was more in him than I could think. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +So did I, I’ll be sworn. He is simply the rarest man i’ th’ world. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +I think he is. But a greater soldier than he you wot one. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Who, my master? + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Nay, it’s no matter for that. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Worth six on him. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Nay, not so neither. But I take him to be the greater soldier. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that. For the defence of a +town our general is excellent. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Ay, and for an assault too. + +Enter the Third Servingman. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +O slaves, I can tell you news, news, you rascals! + +FIRST and SECOND SERVINGMAN. +What, what, what? Let’s partake. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lief be a condemned +man. + +FIRST and SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Wherefore? Wherefore? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Why, here’s he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Martius. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Why do you say, “thwack our general”? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +I do not say “thwack our general,” but he was always good enough for +him. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Come, we are fellows and friends. He was ever too hard for him; I have +heard him say so himself. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +He was too hard for him directly, to say the troth on’t, before +Corioles; he scotched him and notched him like a carbonado. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +An he had been cannibally given, he might have boiled and eaten him +too. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +But, more of thy news? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Why, he is so made on here within as if he were son and heir to Mars; +set at upper end o’ th’ table; no question asked him by any of the +senators but they stand bald before him. Our general himself makes a +mistress of him, sanctifies himself with’s hand, and turns up the white +o’ th’ eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our general +is cut i’ th’ middle and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the +other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He’ll go, +he says, and sowl the porter of Rome gates by th’ ears. He will mow all +down before him and leave his passage polled. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +And he’s as like to do’t as any man I can imagine. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Do’t? He will do’t! For look you, sir, he has as many friends as +enemies, which friends, sir, as it were, durst not, look you, sir, show +themselves, as we term it, his friends whilest he’s in directitude. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Directitude? What’s that? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood, +they will out of their burrows like coneys after rain, and revel all +with him. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +But when goes this forward? + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Tomorrow, today, presently. You shall have the drum struck up this +afternoon. ’Tis as it were parcel of their feast, and to be executed +ere they wipe their lips. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +Why then, we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing +but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Let me have war, say I. It exceeds peace as far as day does night. It’s +sprightly walking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, +lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard +children than war’s a destroyer of men. + +SECOND SERVINGMAN. +’Tis so, and as war in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher, so it +cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds. + +FIRST SERVINGMAN. +Ay, and it makes men hate one another. + +THIRD SERVINGMAN. +Reason: because they then less need one another. The wars for my money! +I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising; they are +rising. + +ALL. +In, in, in, in! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Rome. A public place + +Enter the two Tribunes. Sicinius and Brutus. + +SICINIUS. +We hear not of him, neither need we fear him. +His remedies are tame—the present peace, +And quietness of the people, which before +Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends +Blush that the world goes well, who rather had, +Though they themselves did suffer by’t, behold +Dissentious numbers pest’ring streets than see +Our tradesmen singing in their shops and going +About their functions friendly. + +BRUTUS. +We stood to’t in good time. + +Enter Menenius. + +Is this Menenius? + +SICINIUS. +’Tis he, ’tis he. O, he is grown most kind +Of late.—Hail, sir! + +MENENIUS. +Hail to you both. + +SICINIUS. +Your Coriolanus is not much missed +But with his friends. The commonwealth doth stand, +And so would do were he more angry at it. + +MENENIUS. +All’s well, and might have been much better if +He could have temporized. + +SICINIUS. +Where is he, hear you? + +MENENIUS. +Nay, I hear nothing; +His mother and his wife hear nothing from him. + +Enter three or four Citizens. + +ALL CITIZENS. +The gods preserve you both! + +SICINIUS. +Good e’en, our neighbours. + +BRUTUS. +Good e’en to you all, good e’en to you all. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees +Are bound to pray for you both. + +SICINIUS. +Live and thrive! + +BRUTUS. +Farewell, kind neighbours. We wished Coriolanus +Had loved you as we did. + +CITIZENS. +Now the gods keep you! + +BOTH TRIBUNES. +Farewell, farewell. + +[_Exeunt Citizens._] + +SICINIUS. +This is a happier and more comely time +Than when these fellows ran about the streets +Crying confusion. + +BRUTUS. +Caius Martius was +A worthy officer i’ th’ war, but insolent, +O’ercome with pride, ambitious, past all thinking +Self-loving. + +SICINIUS. +And affecting one sole throne, without assistance. + +MENENIUS. +I think not so. + +SICINIUS. +We should by this, to all our lamentation, +If he had gone forth consul, found it so. + +BRUTUS. +The gods have well prevented it, and Rome +Sits safe and still without him. + +Enter an Aedile. + +AEDILE. +Worthy tribunes, +There is a slave, whom we have put in prison, +Reports the Volsces with two several powers +Are entered in the Roman territories, +And with the deepest malice of the war +Destroy what lies before ’em. + +MENENIUS. +’Tis Aufidius, +Who, hearing of our Martius’ banishment, +Thrusts forth his horns again into the world, +Which were inshelled when Martius stood for Rome, +And durst not once peep out. + +SICINIUS. +Come, what talk you of Martius? + +BRUTUS. +Go see this rumourer whipped. It cannot be +The Volsces dare break with us. + +MENENIUS. +Cannot be? +We have record that very well it can, +And three examples of the like hath been +Within my age. But reason with the fellow +Before you punish him, where he heard this, +Lest you shall chance to whip your information +And beat the messenger who bids beware +Of what is to be dreaded. + +SICINIUS. +Tell not me. +I know this cannot be. + +BRUTUS. +Not possible. + +Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +The nobles in great earnestness are going +All to the Senate House. Some news is coming +That turns their countenances. + +SICINIUS. +’Tis this slave— +Go whip him ’fore the people’s eyes—his raising, +Nothing but his report. + +MESSENGER. +Yes, worthy sir, +The slave’s report is seconded, and more, +More fearful, is delivered. + +SICINIUS. +What more fearful? + +MESSENGER. +It is spoke freely out of many mouths— +How probable I do not know—that Martius, +Joined with Aufidius, leads a power ’gainst Rome +And vows revenge as spacious as between +The young’st and oldest thing. + +SICINIUS. +This is most likely! + +BRUTUS. +Raised only that the weaker sort may wish +Good Martius home again. + +SICINIUS. +The very trick on ’t. + +MENENIUS. +This is unlikely; +He and Aufidius can no more atone +Than violent’st contrariety. + +Enter a Second Messenger. + +SECOND MESSENGER. +You are sent for to the Senate. +A fearful army, led by Caius Martius +Associated with Aufidius, rages +Upon our territories, and have already +O’erborne their way, consumed with fire and took +What lay before them. + +Enter Cominius. + +COMINIUS. +O, you have made good work! + +MENENIUS. +What news? What news? + +COMINIUS. +You have holp to ravish your own daughters and +To melt the city leads upon your pates, +To see your wives dishonoured to your noses— + +MENENIUS. +What’s the news? What’s the news? + +COMINIUS. +Your temples burned in their cement, and +Your franchises, whereon you stood, confined +Into an auger’s bore. + +MENENIUS. +Pray now, your news?— +You have made fair work, I fear me.—Pray, your news? +If Martius should be joined with Volscians— + +COMINIUS. +If? +He is their god; he leads them like a thing +Made by some other deity than Nature, +That shapes man better; and they follow him +Against us brats with no less confidence +Than boys pursuing summer butterflies +Or butchers killing flies. + +MENENIUS. +You have made good work, +You and your apron-men, you that stood so much +Upon the voice of occupation and +The breath of garlic eaters! + +COMINIUS. +He’ll shake your Rome about your ears. + +MENENIUS. +As Hercules did shake down mellow fruit. +You have made fair work. + +BRUTUS. +But is this true, sir? + +COMINIUS. +Ay, and you’ll look pale +Before you find it other. All the regions +Do smilingly revolt, and who resists +Are mocked for valiant ignorance +And perish constant fools. Who is’t can blame him? +Your enemies and his find something in him. + +MENENIUS. +We are all undone unless +The noble man have mercy. + +COMINIUS. +Who shall ask it? +The Tribunes cannot do’t for shame; the people +Deserve such pity of him as the wolf +Does of the shepherds. For his best friends, if they +Should say “Be good to Rome,” they charged him even +As those should do that had deserved his hate +And therein showed like enemies. + +MENENIUS. +’Tis true. +If he were putting to my house the brand +That should consume it, I have not the face +To say “Beseech you, cease.”—You have made fair hands, +You and your crafts! You have crafted fair! + +COMINIUS. +You have brought +A trembling upon Rome such as was never +S’ incapable of help. + +TRIBUNES. +Say not we brought it. + +MENENIUS. +How? Was it we? We loved him, but like beasts +And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters, +Who did hoot him out o’ th’ city. + +COMINIUS. +But I fear +They’ll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius, +The second name of men, obeys his points +As if he were his officer. Desperation +Is all the policy, strength, and defence +That Rome can make against them. + +Enter a troop of Citizens. + +MENENIUS. +Here comes the clusters.— +And is Aufidius with him? You are they +That made the air unwholesome when you cast +Your stinking, greasy caps in hooting at +Coriolanus’ exile. Now he’s coming, +And not a hair upon a soldier’s head +Which will not prove a whip. As many coxcombs +As you threw caps up will he tumble down +And pay you for your voices. ’Tis no matter. +If he could burn us all into one coal +We have deserved it. + +ALL CITIZENS. +Faith, we hear fearful news. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +For mine own part, +When I said banish him, I said ’twas pity. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +And so did I. + +THIRD CITIZEN. +And so did I. And, to say the truth, so did very many of us. That we +did we did for the best; and though we willingly consented to his +banishment, yet it was against our will. + +COMINIUS. +You are goodly things, you voices! + +MENENIUS. +You have made good work, you and your cry!— +Shall’s to the Capitol? + +COMINIUS. +O, ay, what else? + +[_Exeunt Cominius and Menenius._] + +SICINIUS. +Go, masters, get you home. Be not dismayed. +These are a side that would be glad to have +This true which they so seem to fear. Go home, +And show no sign of fear. + +FIRST CITIZEN. +The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let’s home. I ever said we were +i’ th’ wrong when we banished him. + +SECOND CITIZEN. +So did we all. But, come, let’s home. + +[_Exeunt Citizens._] + +BRUTUS. +I do not like this news. + +SICINIUS. +Nor I. + +BRUTUS. +Let’s to the Capitol. Would half my wealth +Would buy this for a lie! + +SICINIUS. +Pray let’s go. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VII. A camp at a short distance from Rome + +Enter Aufidius with his Lieutenant. + +AUFIDIUS. +Do they still fly to th’ Roman? + +LIEUTENANT. +I do not know what witchcraft’s in him, but +Your soldiers use him as the grace ’fore meat, +Their talk at table, and their thanks at end; +And you are dark’ned in this action, sir, +Even by your own. + +AUFIDIUS. +I cannot help it now, +Unless by using means I lame the foot +Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier, +Even to my person, than I thought he would +When first I did embrace him. Yet his nature +In that’s no changeling, and I must excuse +What cannot be amended. + +LIEUTENANT. +Yet I wish, sir— +I mean for your particular—you had not +Joined in commission with him, but either +Had borne the action of yourself or else +To him had left it solely. + +AUFIDIUS. +I understand thee well, and be thou sure, +When he shall come to his account, he knows not +What I can urge against him, although it seems, +And so he thinks and is no less apparent +To th’ vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly, +And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state, +Fights dragonlike, and does achieve as soon +As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone +That which shall break his neck or hazard mine +Whene’er we come to our account. + +LIEUTENANT. +Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome? + +AUFIDIUS. +All places yield to him ere he sits down, +And the nobility of Rome are his; +The Senators and Patricians love him too. +The Tribunes are no soldiers, and their people +Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty +To expel him thence. I think he’ll be to Rome +As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it +By sovereignty of nature. First, he was +A noble servant to them, but he could not +Carry his honours even. Whether ’twas pride, +Which out of daily fortune ever taints +The happy man; whether defect of judgment, +To fail in the disposing of those chances +Which he was lord of; or whether nature, +Not to be other than one thing, not moving +From th’ casque to th’ cushion, but commanding peace +Even with the same austerity and garb +As he controlled the war; but one of these— +As he hath spices of them all—not all, +For I dare so far free him—made him feared, +So hated, and so banished. But he has a merit +To choke it in the utt’rance. So our virtues +Lie in th’ interpretation of the time, +And power, unto itself most commendable, +Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair +T’ extol what it hath done. +One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail; +Rights by rights falter; strengths by strengths do fail. +Come, let’s away. When, Caius, Rome is thine, +Thou art poor’st of all; then shortly art thou mine. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Rome. A public place + + +Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus (the two Tribunes), with +others. + +MENENIUS. +No, I’ll not go. You hear what he hath said +Which was sometime his general, who loved him +In a most dear particular. He called me father, +But what o’ that? Go you that banished him; +A mile before his tent, fall down, and knee +The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coyed +To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home. + +COMINIUS. +He would not seem to know me. + +MENENIUS. +Do you hear? + +COMINIUS. +Yet one time he did call me by my name. +I urged our old acquaintance, and the drops +That we have bled together. “Coriolanus” +He would not answer to, forbade all names. +He was a kind of nothing, titleless, +Till he had forged himself a name i’ th’ fire +Of burning Rome. + +MENENIUS. +Why, so; you have made good work! +A pair of tribunes that have wracked Rome +To make coals cheap! A noble memory! + +COMINIUS. +I minded him how royal ’twas to pardon +When it was less expected. He replied +It was a bare petition of a state +To one whom they had punished. + +MENENIUS. +Very well. +Could he say less? + +COMINIUS. +I offered to awaken his regard +For’s private friends. His answer to me was +He could not stay to pick them in a pile +Of noisome musty chaff. He said ’twas folly +For one poor grain or two to leave unburnt +And still to nose th’ offence. + +MENENIUS. +For one poor grain or two! +I am one of those! His mother, wife, his child, +And this brave fellow too, we are the grains; +You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt +Above the moon. We must be burnt for you. + +SICINIUS. +Nay, pray, be patient. If you refuse your aid +In this so-never-needed help, yet do not +Upbraid’s with our distress. But sure, if you +Would be your country’s pleader, your good tongue, +More than the instant army we can make, +Might stop our countryman. + +MENENIUS. +No, I’ll not meddle. + +SICINIUS. +Pray you, go to him. + +MENENIUS. +What should I do? + +BRUTUS. +Only make trial what your love can do +For Rome, towards Martius. + +MENENIUS. +Well, and say that Martius +Return me, as Cominius is returned, unheard, +What then? But as a discontented friend, +Grief-shot with his unkindness? Say’t be so? + +SICINIUS. +Yet your good will +Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure +As you intended well. + +MENENIUS. +I’ll undertake’t. +I think he’ll hear me. Yet to bite his lip +And hum at good Cominius much unhearts me. +He was not taken well; he had not dined. +The veins unfilled, our blood is cold, and then +We pout upon the morning, are unapt +To give or to forgive; but when we have stuffed +These pipes and these conveyances of our blood +With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls +Than in our priestlike fasts. Therefore I’ll watch him +Till he be dieted to my request, +And then I’ll set upon him. + +BRUTUS. +You know the very road into his kindness +And cannot lose your way. + +MENENIUS. +Good faith, I’ll prove him, +Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge +Of my success. + +[_Exit._] + +COMINIUS. +He’ll never hear him. + +SICINIUS. +Not? + +COMINIUS. +I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye +Red as ’twould burn Rome; and his injury +The jailer to his pity. I kneeled before him; +’Twas very faintly he said “Rise”; dismissed me +Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do +He sent in writing after me; what he +Would not, bound with an oath to yield to his +Conditions. So that all hope is vain +Unless his noble mother and his wife, +Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him +For mercy to his country. Therefore let’s hence +And with our fair entreaties haste them on. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. An Advanced post of the Volscian camp before Rome. + +Enter Menenius to the Watch, or Guard. + +FIRST WATCH. +Stay! Whence are you? + +SECOND WATCH. +Stand, and go back. + +MENENIUS. +You guard like men; ’tis well. But by your leave, +I am an officer of state and come +To speak with Coriolanus. + +FIRST WATCH. +From whence? + +MENENIUS. +From Rome. + +FIRST WATCH. +You may not pass; you must return. Our general +Will no more hear from thence. + +SECOND WATCH. +You’ll see your Rome embraced with fire before +You’ll speak with Coriolanus. + +MENENIUS. +Good my friends, +If you have heard your general talk of Rome +And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks +My name hath touched your ears. It is Menenius. + +FIRST WATCH. +Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name +Is not here passable. + +MENENIUS. +I tell thee, fellow, +Thy general is my lover. I have been +The book of his good acts, whence men have read +His fame unparalleled happily amplified; +For I have ever verified my friends— +Of whom he’s chief—with all the size that verity +Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes, +Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground, +I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise +Have almost stamped the leasing. Therefore, fellow, +I must have leave to pass. + +FIRST WATCH. +Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have +uttered words in your own, you should not pass here, no, though it were +as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore, go back. + +MENENIUS. +Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the +party of your general. + +SECOND WATCH. +Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that, +telling true under him, must say you cannot pass. Therefore go back. + +MENENIUS. +Has he dined, can’st thou tell? For I would not speak with him till +after dinner. + +FIRST WATCH. +You are a Roman, are you? + +MENENIUS. +I am, as thy general is. + +FIRST WATCH. +Then you should hate Rome as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out +your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular +ignorance given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges +with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your +daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as +you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city +is ready to flame in with such weak breath as this? No, you are +deceived. Therefore back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You +are condemned. Our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon. + +MENENIUS. +Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with +estimation. + +SECOND WATCH. +Come, my captain knows you not. + +MENENIUS. +I mean thy general. + +FIRST WATCH. +My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go, lest I let forth your +half pint of blood. Back! That’s the utmost of your having. Back! + +MENENIUS. +Nay, but fellow, fellow— + +Enter Coriolanus with Aufidius. + +CORIOLANUS. +What’s the matter? + +MENENIUS. +Now, you companion, I’ll say an errand for you. You shall know now that +I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant cannot +office me from my son Coriolanus. Guess but by my entertainment with +him if thou stand’st not i’ th’ state of hanging or of some death more +long in spectatorship and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, +and swoon for what’s to come upon thee. [_to Coriolanus_.] The glorious +gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity and love thee +no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O my son, my son! Thou art +preparing fire for us; look thee, here’s water to quench it. I was +hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured none but myself could +move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs, and conjure +thee to pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods +assuage thy wrath and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here, this, +who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee. + +CORIOLANUS. +Away! + +MENENIUS. +How? Away? + +CORIOLANUS. +Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs +Are servanted to others. Though I owe +My revenge properly, my remission lies +In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar, +Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather +Than pity note how much. Therefore begone. +Mine ears against your suits are stronger than +Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee, +Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, + +[_He gives Menenius a paper._] + +And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius, +I will not hear thee speak.—This man, Aufidius, +Was my beloved in Rome; yet thou behold’st. + +AUFIDIUS. +You keep a constant temper. + +[_They exit._] + +[_The Guard and Menenius remain._] + +FIRST WATCH. +Now, sir, is your name Menenius? + +SECOND WATCH. +’Tis a spell, you see, of much power. You know the way home again. + +FIRST WATCH. +Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your Greatness back? + +SECOND WATCH. +What cause do you think I have to swoon? + +MENENIUS. +I neither care for th’ world nor your general. For such things as you, +I can scarce think there’s any, you’re so slight. He that hath a will +to die by himself fears it not from another. Let your general do his +worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with +your age! I say to you, as I was said to, away! + +[_Exit._] + +FIRST WATCH. +A noble fellow, I warrant him. + +SECOND WATCH. +The worthy fellow is our general. He is the rock, the oak not to be +wind-shaken. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. The tent of Coriolanus + +Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius. + +CORIOLANUS. +We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow +Set down our host. My partner in this action, +You must report to th’ Volscian lords how plainly +I have borne this business. + +AUFIDIUS. +Only their ends +You have respected, stopped your ears against +The general suit of Rome; never admitted +A private whisper, no, not with such friends +That thought them sure of you. + +CORIOLANUS. +This last old man, +Whom with cracked heart I have sent to Rome, +Loved me above the measure of a father, +Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge +Was to send him, for whose old love I have— +Though I showed sourly to him—once more offered +The first conditions, which they did refuse +And cannot now accept, to grace him only +That thought he could do more. A very little +I have yielded to. Fresh embassies and suits, +Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter +Will I lend ear to. + +[_Shout within._] + +Ha? What shout is this? +Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow +In the same time ’tis made? I will not. + +Enter Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, young Martius with attendants. + +My wife comes foremost, then the honoured mold +Wherein this trunk was framed, and in her hand +The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection! +All bond and privilege of nature, break! +Let it be virtuous to be obstinate. +What is that curtsy worth? Or those doves’ eyes, +Which can make gods forsworn? I melt and am not +Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows, +As if Olympus to a molehill should +In supplication nod; and my young boy +Hath an aspect of intercession which +Great Nature cries “Deny not!” Let the Volsces +Plough Rome and harrow Italy, I’ll never +Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand +As if a man were author of himself, +And knew no other kin. + +VIRGILIA. +My lord and husband. + +CORIOLANUS. +These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome. + +VIRGILIA. +The sorrow that delivers us thus changed +Makes you think so. + +CORIOLANUS. +Like a dull actor now, +I have forgot my part, and I am out, +Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, +Forgive my tyranny, but do not say +For that, “Forgive our Romans.” + +[_They kiss._] + +O, a kiss +Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge! +Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss +I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip +Hath virgined it e’er since. You gods! I prate +And the most noble mother of the world +Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i’ th’ earth; + +[_Kneels._] + +Of thy deep duty more impression show +Than that of common sons. + +VOLUMNIA. +O, stand up blest, + +[_He rises_.] + +Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint +I kneel before thee and unproperly +Show duty, as mistaken all this while +Between the child and parent. + +[_She kneels._] + +CORIOLANUS. +What is this? +Your knees to me? To your corrected son? + +[_He raises her up._] + +Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach +Fillip the stars! Then let the mutinous winds +Strike the proud cedars ’gainst the fiery sun, +Murdering impossibility to make +What cannot be slight work. + +VOLUMNIA. +Thou art my warrior; +I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady? + +CORIOLANUS. +The noble sister of Publicola, +The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle +That’s curdied by the frost from purest snow +And hangs on Dian’s temple!—Dear Valeria. + +VOLUMNIA. +This is a poor epitome of yours, +Which by th’ interpretation of full time +May show like all yourself. + +CORIOLANUS. +The god of soldiers, +With the consent of supreme Jove, inform +Thy thoughts with nobleness, that thou mayst prove +To shame unvulnerable, and stick i’ th’ wars +Like a great seamark standing every flaw +And saving those that eye thee. + +VOLUMNIA. +[_To young Martius_.] Your knee, sirrah. + +[_He kneels._] + +CORIOLANUS. +That’s my brave boy! + +VOLUMNIA. +Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself +Are suitors to you. + +[_Young Martius rises._] + +CORIOLANUS. +I beseech you, peace; +Or, if you’d ask, remember this before: +The thing I have forsworn to grant may never +Be held by you denials. Do not bid me +Dismiss my soldiers or capitulate +Again with Rome’s mechanics. Tell me not +Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not +T’ allay my rages and revenges with +Your colder reasons. + +VOLUMNIA. +O, no more, no more! +You have said you will not grant us anything; +For we have nothing else to ask but that +Which you deny already. Yet we will ask, +That if you fail in our request, the blame +May hang upon your hardness. Therefore hear us. + +CORIOLANUS. +Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark, for we’ll +Hear naught from Rome in private. Your request? + +VOLUMNIA. +Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment +And state of bodies would bewray what life +We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself +How more unfortunate than all living women +Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should +Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, +Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow, +Making the mother, wife, and child to see +The son, the husband, and the father tearing +His country’s bowels out. And to poor we +Thine enmity’s most capital. Thou barr’st us +Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort +That all but we enjoy. For how can we— +Alas, how can we—for our country pray, +Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, +Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose +The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, +Our comfort in the country. We must find +An evident calamity, though we had +Our wish, which side should win, for either thou +Must as a foreign recreant be led +With manacles through our streets, or else +Triumphantly tread on thy country’s ruin +And bear the palm for having bravely shed +Thy wife and children’s blood. For myself, son, +I purpose not to wait on fortune till +These wars determine. If I cannot persuade thee +Rather to show a noble grace to both parts +Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner +March to assault thy country than to tread— +Trust to’t, thou shalt not—on thy mother’s womb +That brought thee to this world. + +VIRGILIA. +Ay, and mine, +That brought you forth this boy to keep your name +Living to time. + +YOUNG MARTIUS. +He shall not tread on me. +I’ll run away till I am bigger, but then I’ll fight. + +CORIOLANUS. +Not of a woman’s tenderness to be +Requires nor child nor woman’s face to see.— +I have sat too long. + +[_He rises._] + +VOLUMNIA. +Nay, go not from us thus. +If it were so, that our request did tend +To save the Romans, thereby to destroy +The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us +As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit +Is that you reconcile them, while the Volsces +May say “This mercy we have showed,” the Romans +“This we received,” and each in either side +Give the all-hail to thee and cry, “Be blessed +For making up this peace!” Thou know’st, great son, +The end of war’s uncertain, but this certain, +That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit +Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name +Whose repetition will be dogged with curses, +Whose chronicle thus writ: “The man was noble, +But with his last attempt he wiped it out; +Destroyed his country, and his name remains +To th’ ensuing age abhorred.” Speak to me, son. +Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour +To imitate the graces of the gods, +To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o’ th’ air +And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt +That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak? +Think’st thou it honourable for a noble man +Still to remember wrongs?—Daughter, speak you. +He cares not for your weeping.—Speak thou, boy. +Perhaps thy childishness will move him more +Than can our reasons.—There’s no man in the world +More bound to’s mother, yet here he lets me prate +Like one i’ th’ stocks. Thou hast never in thy life +Showed thy dear mother any courtesy +When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, +Has clucked thee to the wars and safely home, +Loaden with honour. Say my request’s unjust +And spurn me back; but if it be not so, +Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee +That thou restrain’st from me the duty which +To a mother’s part belongs.—He turns away.— +Down, ladies! Let us shame him with our knees. +To his surname Coriolanus ’longs more pride +Than pity to our prayers. Down! An end. + +[_They kneel._] + +This is the last. So we will home to Rome +And die among our neighbours.—Nay, behold’s. +This boy that cannot tell what he would have, +But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship, +Does reason our petition with more strength +Than thou hast to deny’t.—Come, let us go. + +[_They rise._] + +This fellow had a Volscian to his mother, +His wife is in Corioles, and his child +Like him by chance.—Yet give us our dispatch. +I am hushed until our city be afire, +And then I’ll speak a little. + +[_He holds her by the hand, silent._] + +CORIOLANUS. +O mother, mother! +What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, +The gods look down, and this unnatural scene +They laugh at. O my mother, mother, O! +You have won a happy victory to Rome, +But, for your son—believe it, O, believe it!— +Most dangerously you have with him prevailed, +If not most mortal to him. But let it come.— +Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, +I’ll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, +Were you in my stead, would you have heard +A mother less? Or granted less, Aufidius? + +AUFIDIUS. +I was moved withal. + +CORIOLANUS. +I dare be sworn you were. +And, sir, it is no little thing to make +Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, +What peace you’ll make, advise me. For my part, +I’ll not to Rome, I’ll back with you; and pray you, +Stand to me in this cause.—O mother!—Wife! + +[_He speaks with them aside._] + +AUFIDIUS. +[_Aside_.] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour +At difference in thee. Out of that I’ll work +Myself a former fortune. + +CORIOLANUS. +[_To the Women_.] Ay, by and by; +But we’ll drink together, and you shall bear +A better witness back than words, which we, +On like conditions, will have countersealed. +Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve +To have a temple built you. All the swords +In Italy, and her confederate arms, +Could not have made this peace. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. A public place + +Enter Menenius and Sicinius. + +MENENIUS. +See you yond coign o’ the Capitol, yond cornerstone? + +SICINIUS. +Why, what of that? + +MENENIUS. +If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there +is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail +with him. But I say there is no hope in’t. Our throats are sentenced +and stay upon execution. + +SICINIUS. +Is’t possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man? + +MENENIUS. +There is differency between a grub and a butterfly, yet your butterfly +was a grub. This Martius is grown from man to dragon. He has wings; +he’s more than a creeping thing. + +SICINIUS. +He loved his mother dearly. + +MENENIUS. +So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now than an +eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes. When +he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his +treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye, talks like a +knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state as a thing made +for Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with his bidding. He +wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in. + +SICINIUS. +Yes, mercy, if you report him truly. + +MENENIUS. +I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring +from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male +tiger. That shall our poor city find, and all this is long of you. + +SICINIUS. +The gods be good unto us. + +MENENIUS. +No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished +him, we respected not them; and he returning to break our necks, they +respect not us. + +Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Sir, if you’d save your life, fly to your house. +The plebeians have got your fellow tribune +And hale him up and down, all swearing if +The Roman ladies bring not comfort home, +They’ll give him death by inches. + +Enter another Messenger. + +SICINIUS. +What’s the news? + +SECOND MESSENGER. +Good news, good news! The ladies have prevailed. +The Volscians are dislodged and Martius gone. +A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, +No, not th’ expulsion of the Tarquins. + +SICINIUS. +Friend, +Art thou certain this is true? Is’t most certain? + +SECOND MESSENGER. +As certain as I know the sun is fire. +Where have you lurked that you make doubt of it? +Ne’er through an arch so hurried the blown tide +As the recomforted through th’ gates. Why, hark you! + +[_Trumpets, hautboys, drums beat, all together._] + +The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes, +Tabors and cymbals, and the shouting Romans +Make the sun dance. Hark you! + +[_A shout within._] + +MENENIUS. +This is good news. +I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia +Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians +A city full; of tribunes such as you +A sea and land full. You have prayed well today. +This morning for ten thousand of your throats +I’d not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy! + +[_Sound still with the shouts._] + +SICINIUS. +First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next, accept my +thankfulness. + +SECOND MESSENGER. +Sir, we have all great cause to give great thanks. + +SICINIUS. +They are near the city? + +MESSENGER. +Almost at point to enter. + +SICINIUS. +We’ll meet them, and help the joy. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Rome. A street near the gate + +Enter two Senators, with Ladies (Volumnia, Virgilia, Valeria) passing +over the stage, with other Lords. + +SENATOR. +Behold our patroness, the life of Rome! +Call all your tribes together, praise the gods, +And make triumphant fires. Strew flowers before them, +Unshout the noise that banished Martius, +Repeal him with the welcome of his mother. +Cry “Welcome, ladies, welcome!” + +ALL. +Welcome, ladies, welcome! + +[_A flourish with drums and trumpets._] + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Antium. A public place + +Enter Tullus Aufidius with Attendants. + +AUFIDIUS. +Go tell the lords o’ th’ city I am here. +Deliver them this paper. + +[_He gives them a paper_.] + +Having read it, +Bid them repair to th’ marketplace, where I, +Even in theirs and in the commons’ ears, +Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse +The city ports by this hath entered and +Intends t’ appear before the people, hoping +To purge himself with words. Dispatch. + +[_Exeunt Attendants._] + +Enter three or four Conspirators of Aufidius’s faction. + +Most welcome! + +FIRST CONSPIRATOR. +How is it with our general? + +AUFIDIUS. +Even so +As with a man by his own alms empoisoned +And with his charity slain. + +SECOND CONSPIRATOR. +Most noble sir, +If you do hold the same intent wherein +You wished us parties, we’ll deliver you +Of your great danger. + +AUFIDIUS. +Sir, I cannot tell. +We must proceed as we do find the people. + +THIRD CONSPIRATOR. +The people will remain uncertain whilst +’Twixt you there’s difference, but the fall of either +Makes the survivor heir of all. + +AUFIDIUS. +I know it, +And my pretext to strike at him admits +A good construction. I raised him, and I pawned +Mine honour for his truth, who being so heightened, +He watered his new plants with dews of flattery, +Seducing so my friends; and to this end, +He bowed his nature, never known before +But to be rough, unswayable, and free. + +THIRD CONSPIRATOR. +Sir, his stoutness +When he did stand for consul, which he lost +By lack of stooping— + +AUFIDIUS. +That I would have spoke of. +Being banished for’t, he came unto my hearth, +Presented to my knife his throat. I took him, +Made him joint servant with me, gave him way +In all his own desires; nay, let him choose +Out of my files, his projects to accomplish, +My best and freshest men; served his designments +In mine own person; holp to reap the fame +Which he did end all his; and took some pride +To do myself this wrong; till at the last +I seemed his follower, not partner; and +He waged me with his countenance as if +I had been mercenary. + +FIRST CONSPIRATOR. +So he did, my lord. +The army marvelled at it, and, in the last, +When he had carried Rome and that we looked +For no less spoil than glory— + +AUFIDIUS. +There was it +For which my sinews shall be stretched upon him. +At a few drops of women’s rheum, which are +As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour +Of our great action. Therefore shall he die, +And I’ll renew me in his fall. But, hark! + +[_Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the people._] + +FIRST CONSPIRATOR. +Your native town you entered like a post +And had no welcomes home, but he returns +Splitting the air with noise. + +SECOND CONSPIRATOR. +And patient fools, +Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear +With giving him glory. + +THIRD CONSPIRATOR. +Therefore at your vantage, +Ere he express himself or move the people +With what he would say, let him feel your sword, +Which we will second. When he lies along, +After your way his tale pronounced shall bury +His reasons with his body. + +AUFIDIUS. +Say no more. +Here come the lords. + +Enter the Lords of the city. + +ALL LORDS. +You are most welcome home. + +AUFIDIUS. +I have not deserved it. +But, worthy lords, have you with heed perused +What I have written to you? + +ALL LORDS. +We have. + +FIRST LORD. +And grieve to hear’t. +What faults he made before the last, I think +Might have found easy fines, but there to end +Where he was to begin and give away +The benefit of our levies, answering us +With our own charge, making a treaty where +There was a yielding—this admits no excuse. + +Enter Coriolanus marching with Drum and Colours, the Commoners being +with him. + +AUFIDIUS. +He approaches. You shall hear him. + +CORIOLANUS. +Hail, lords! I am returned your soldier, +No more infected with my country’s love +Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting +Under your great command. You are to know +That prosperously I have attempted, and +With bloody passage led your wars even to +The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home +Doth more than counterpoise a full third part +The charges of the action. We have made peace +With no less honour to the Antiates +Than shame to th’ Romans, and we here deliver, +Subscribed by th’ Consuls and patricians, +Together with the seal o’ th’ Senate, what +We have compounded on. + +[_He offers the lords a paper._] + +AUFIDIUS. +Read it not, noble lords, +But tell the traitor in the highest degree +He hath abused your powers. + +CORIOLANUS. +“Traitor?” How now? + +AUFIDIUS. +Ay, traitor, Martius. + +CORIOLANUS. +Martius? + +AUFIDIUS. +Ay, Martius, Caius Martius. Dost thou think +I’ll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol’n name +Coriolanus, in Corioles? +You lords and heads o’ th’ state, perfidiously +He has betrayed your business and given up +For certain drops of salt your city Rome— +I say your city—to his wife and mother, +Breaking his oath and resolution like +A twist of rotten silk, never admitting +Counsel o’ th’ war, but at his nurse’s tears +He whined and roared away your victory, +That pages blushed at him and men of heart +Looked wond’ring each at other. + +CORIOLANUS. +Hear’st thou, Mars? + +AUFIDIUS. +Name not the god, thou boy of tears. + +CORIOLANUS. +Ha? + +AUFIDIUS. +No more. + +CORIOLANUS. +Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart +Too great for what contains it. “Boy”? O slave!— +Pardon me, lords, ’tis the first time that ever +I was forced to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords, +Must give this cur the lie; and his own notion— +Who wears my stripes impressed upon him, that +Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join +To thrust the lie unto him. + +FIRST LORD. +Peace, both, and hear me speak. + +CORIOLANUS. +Cut me to pieces, Volsces. Men and lads, +Stain all your edges on me. “Boy”? False hound! +If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there, +That like an eagle in a dovecote, I +Fluttered your Volscians in Corioles, +Alone I did it. “Boy”! + +AUFIDIUS. +Why, noble lords, +Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune, +Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart, +’Fore your own eyes and ears? + +ALL CONSPIRATORS. +Let him die for’t. + +ALL PEOPLE +Tear him to pieces! Do it presently! He killed my son! My daughter! He +killed my cousin Marcus! He killed my father! + +SECOND LORD. +Peace, ho! No outrage! Peace! +The man is noble, and his fame folds in +This orb o’ th’ Earth. His last offences to us +Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius, +And trouble not the peace. + +CORIOLANUS. +O that I had him, +With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe, +To use my lawful sword. + +AUFIDIUS. +Insolent villain! + +ALL CONSPIRATORS. +Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him! + + +[_Draw the Conspirators, and kills Martius, who falls. Aufidius stands +on him._] + +LORDS. +Hold, hold, hold, hold! + +AUFIDIUS. +My noble masters, hear me speak. + +FIRST LORD. +O Tullus! + +SECOND LORD. +Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep. + +THIRD LORD. +Tread not upon him.—Masters, all be quiet.— +Put up your swords. + +AUFIDIUS. +My lords, when you shall know—as in this rage, +Provoked by him, you cannot—the great danger +Which this man’s life did owe you, you’ll rejoice +That he is thus cut off. Please it your Honours +To call me to your senate, I’ll deliver +Myself your loyal servant, or endure +Your heaviest censure. + +FIRST LORD. +Bear from hence his body, +And mourn you for him. Let him be regarded +As the most noble corse that ever herald +Did follow to his urn. + +SECOND LORD. +His own impatience +Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame. +Let’s make the best of it. + +AUFIDIUS. +My rage is gone, +And I am struck with sorrow.—Take him up. +Help, three o’ th’ chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one.— +Beat thou the drum that it speak mournfully.— +Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he +Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, +Which to this hour bewail the injury, +Yet he shall have a noble memory. +Assist. + +[_Exeunt, bearing the body of Martius. A dead march sounded._] + + + + +CYMBELINE + + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene II. The same. +Scene III. Britain. A public place. +Scene IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene V. Rome. Philario’s house. +Scene VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene VII. Britain. The palace. + +ACT II +Scene I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk +in one corner. +Scene III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s +apartments. +Scene IV. Rome. Philario’s house. +Scene V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house. + +ACT III +Scene I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave. +Scene IV. Wales, near Milford Haven. +Scene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. +Scene VII. The same. +Scene VIII. Rome. A public place. + +ACT IV +Scene I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius. +Scene II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. +Scene III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. +Scene IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + +ACT V +Scene I. Britain. The Roman camp. +Scene II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman +camps. +Scene III. Another part of the field. +Scene IV. Britain. A prison. +Scene V. Britain. Cymbeline’s tent. + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +CYMBELINE, King of Britain +CLOTEN, son to the Queen by a former husband +POSTHUMUS LEONATUS, a gentleman, husband to Imogen +BELARIUS, a banished lord, disguised under the name of Morgan +GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS, sons to Cymbeline, disguised under the names +of POLYDORE and CADWAL, supposed sons to Belarius +PHILARIO, Italian, friend to Posthumus +IACHIMO, Italian, friend to Philario +CAIUS LUCIUS, General of the Roman forces +PISANIO, servant to Posthumus +CORNELIUS, a physician +A SOOTHSAYER +A ROMAN CAPTAIN +TWO BRITISH CAPTAINS +A FRENCH GENTLEMAN, friend to Philario +TWO LORDS of Cymbeline’s court +TWO GENTLEMEN of the same +TWO GAOLERS + +QUEEN, wife to Cymbeline +IMOGEN, daughter to Cymbeline by a former queen +HELEN, a lady attending on Imogen + +APPARITIONS + +Lords, Ladies, Roman Senators, Tribunes, a Dutch Gentleman, a Spanish +Gentleman, Musicians, Officers, Captains, Soldiers, Messengers, and +Attendants + +SCENE: Britain; Italy. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Britain. The garden of Cymbeline’s palace. + + + Enter two Gentlemen. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +You do not meet a man but frowns; our bloods +No more obey the heavens than our courtiers +Still seem as does the King’s. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +But what’s the matter? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +His daughter, and the heir of’s kingdom, whom +He purpos’d to his wife’s sole son—a widow +That late he married—hath referr’d herself +Unto a poor but worthy gentleman. She’s wedded; +Her husband banish’d; she imprison’d. All +Is outward sorrow, though I think the King +Be touch’d at very heart. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +None but the King? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +He that hath lost her too. So is the Queen, +That most desir’d the match. But not a courtier, +Although they wear their faces to the bent +Of the King’s looks, hath a heart that is not +Glad at the thing they scowl at. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +And why so? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +He that hath miss’d the Princess is a thing +Too bad for bad report; and he that hath her— +I mean that married her, alack, good man! +And therefore banish’d—is a creature such +As, to seek through the regions of the earth +For one his like, there would be something failing +In him that should compare. I do not think +So fair an outward and such stuff within +Endows a man but he. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +You speak him far. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +I do extend him, sir, within himself; +Crush him together rather than unfold +His measure duly. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +What’s his name and birth? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +I cannot delve him to the root; his father +Was call’d Sicilius, who did join his honour +Against the Romans with Cassibelan, +But had his titles by Tenantius, whom +He serv’d with glory and admir’d success, +So gain’d the sur-addition Leonatus; +And had, besides this gentleman in question, +Two other sons, who, in the wars o’ th’ time, +Died with their swords in hand; for which their father, +Then old and fond of issue, took such sorrow +That he quit being; and his gentle lady, +Big of this gentleman, our theme, deceas’d +As he was born. The King he takes the babe +To his protection, calls him Posthumus Leonatus, +Breeds him and makes him of his bed-chamber, +Puts to him all the learnings that his time +Could make him the receiver of; which he took, +As we do air, fast as ’twas minist’red, +And in’s spring became a harvest, liv’d in court— +Which rare it is to do—most prais’d, most lov’d, +A sample to the youngest; to th’ more mature +A glass that feated them; and to the graver +A child that guided dotards. To his mistress, +For whom he now is banish’d, her own price +Proclaims how she esteem’d him and his virtue; +By her election may be truly read +What kind of man he is. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +I honour him +Even out of your report. But pray you tell me, +Is she sole child to th’ King? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +His only child. +He had two sons—if this be worth your hearing, +Mark it—the eldest of them at three years old, +I’ th’ swathing clothes the other, from their nursery +Were stol’n; and to this hour no guess in knowledge +Which way they went. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +How long is this ago? + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Some twenty years. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +That a king’s children should be so convey’d, +So slackly guarded, and the search so slow +That could not trace them! + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +Howsoe’er ’tis strange, +Or that the negligence may well be laugh’d at, +Yet is it true, sir. + +SECOND GENTLEMAN. +I do well believe you. + +FIRST GENTLEMAN. +We must forbear; here comes the gentleman, +The Queen, and Princess. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. + + Enter Queen, Posthumus and Imogen. + +QUEEN. +No, be assur’d you shall not find me, daughter, +After the slander of most stepmothers, +Evil-ey’d unto you. You’re my prisoner, but +Your gaoler shall deliver you the keys +That lock up your restraint. For you, Posthumus, +So soon as I can win th’ offended King, +I will be known your advocate. Marry, yet +The fire of rage is in him, and ’twere good +You lean’d unto his sentence with what patience +Your wisdom may inform you. + +POSTHUMUS. +Please your Highness, +I will from hence today. + +QUEEN. +You know the peril. +I’ll fetch a turn about the garden, pitying +The pangs of barr’d affections, though the King +Hath charg’d you should not speak together. + + [_Exit._] + +IMOGEN. +O dissembling courtesy! How fine this tyrant +Can tickle where she wounds! My dearest husband, +I something fear my father’s wrath, but nothing +(Always reserv’d my holy duty) what +His rage can do on me. You must be gone; +And I shall here abide the hourly shot +Of angry eyes, not comforted to live +But that there is this jewel in the world +That I may see again. + +POSTHUMUS. +My queen! my mistress! +O lady, weep no more, lest I give cause +To be suspected of more tenderness +Than doth become a man. I will remain +The loyal’st husband that did e’er plight troth; +My residence in Rome at one Philario’s, +Who to my father was a friend, to me +Known but by letter; thither write, my queen, +And with mine eyes I’ll drink the words you send, +Though ink be made of gall. + + Enter Queen. + +QUEEN. +Be brief, I pray you. +If the King come, I shall incur I know not +How much of his displeasure. [_Aside._] Yet I’ll move him +To walk this way. I never do him wrong +But he does buy my injuries, to be friends; +Pays dear for my offences. + + [_Exit._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Should we be taking leave +As long a term as yet we have to live, +The loathness to depart would grow. Adieu! + +IMOGEN. +Nay, stay a little. +Were you but riding forth to air yourself, +Such parting were too petty. Look here, love: +This diamond was my mother’s; take it, heart; +But keep it till you woo another wife, +When Imogen is dead. + +POSTHUMUS. +How, how? Another? +You gentle gods, give me but this I have, +And sear up my embracements from a next +With bonds of death! Remain, remain thou here + + [_Puts on the ring._] + +While sense can keep it on. And, sweetest, fairest, +As I my poor self did exchange for you, +To your so infinite loss, so in our trifles +I still win of you. For my sake wear this; +It is a manacle of love; I’ll place it +Upon this fairest prisoner. + + [_Puts a bracelet on her arm._] + +IMOGEN. +O the gods! +When shall we see again? + + Enter Cymbeline and Lords. + +POSTHUMUS. +Alack, the King! + +CYMBELINE. +Thou basest thing, avoid; hence from my sight +If after this command thou fraught the court +With thy unworthiness, thou diest. Away! +Thou’rt poison to my blood. + +POSTHUMUS. +The gods protect you, +And bless the good remainders of the court! +I am gone. + + [_Exit._] + +IMOGEN. +There cannot be a pinch in death +More sharp than this is. + +CYMBELINE. +O disloyal thing, +That shouldst repair my youth, thou heap’st +A year’s age on me! + +IMOGEN. +I beseech you, sir, +Harm not yourself with your vexation. +I am senseless of your wrath; a touch more rare +Subdues all pangs, all fears. + +CYMBELINE. +Past grace? obedience? + +IMOGEN. +Past hope, and in despair; that way past grace. + +CYMBELINE. +That mightst have had the sole son of my queen! + +IMOGEN. +O blessed that I might not! I chose an eagle, +And did avoid a puttock. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou took’st a beggar, wouldst have made my throne +A seat for baseness. + +IMOGEN. +No; I rather added +A lustre to it. + +CYMBELINE. +O thou vile one! + +IMOGEN. +Sir, +It is your fault that I have lov’d Posthumus. +You bred him as my playfellow, and he is +A man worth any woman; overbuys me +Almost the sum he pays. + +CYMBELINE. +What, art thou mad? + +IMOGEN. +Almost, sir. Heaven restore me! Would I were +A neat-herd’s daughter, and my Leonatus +Our neighbour shepherd’s son! + + Enter Queen. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou foolish thing! +[_To the Queen._] They were again together. You have done +Not after our command. Away with her, +And pen her up. + +QUEEN. +Beseech your patience. Peace, +Dear lady daughter, peace!—Sweet sovereign, +Leave us to ourselves, and make yourself some comfort +Out of your best advice. + +CYMBELINE. +Nay, let her languish +A drop of blood a day and, being aged, +Die of this folly. + + [_Exit with Lords._] + + Enter Pisanio. + +QUEEN. +Fie! you must give way. +Here is your servant. How now, sir! What news? + +PISANIO. +My lord your son drew on my master. + +QUEEN. +Ha! +No harm, I trust, is done? + +PISANIO. +There might have been, +But that my master rather play’d than fought, +And had no help of anger; they were parted +By gentlemen at hand. + +QUEEN. +I am very glad on’t. + +IMOGEN. +Your son’s my father’s friend; he takes his part +To draw upon an exile! O brave sir! +I would they were in Afric both together; +Myself by with a needle, that I might prick +The goer-back. Why came you from your master? + +PISANIO. +On his command. He would not suffer me +To bring him to the haven; left these notes +Of what commands I should be subject to, +When’t pleas’d you to employ me. + +QUEEN. +This hath been +Your faithful servant. I dare lay mine honour +He will remain so. + +PISANIO. +I humbly thank your Highness. + +QUEEN. +Pray walk awhile. + +IMOGEN. +About some half-hour hence, +Pray you speak with me. +You shall at least go see my lord aboard. +For this time leave me. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Britain. A public place. + + Enter Cloten and two Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, I would advise you to shift a shirt; the violence of action hath +made you reek as a sacrifice. Where air comes out, air comes in; +there’s none abroad so wholesome as that you vent. + +CLOTEN. +If my shirt were bloody, then to shift it. Have I hurt him? + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] No, faith; not so much as his patience. + +FIRST LORD. +Hurt him! His body’s a passable carcass if he be not hurt. It is a +throughfare for steel if it be not hurt. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] His steel was in debt; it went o’ th’ backside the town. + +CLOTEN. +The villain would not stand me. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] No; but he fled forward still, toward your face. + +FIRST LORD. +Stand you? You have land enough of your own; but he added to your +having, gave you some ground. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] As many inches as you have oceans. +Puppies! + +CLOTEN. +I would they had not come between us. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] So would I, till you had measur’d how long a fool you were +upon the ground. + +CLOTEN. +And that she should love this fellow, and refuse me! + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] If it be a sin to make a true election, she is damn’d. + +FIRST LORD. +Sir, as I told you always, her beauty and her brain go not together; +she’s a good sign, but I have seen small reflection of her wit. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] She shines not upon fools, lest the reflection should hurt +her. + +CLOTEN. +Come, I’ll to my chamber. Would there had been some hurt done! + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] I wish not so; unless it had been the fall of an ass, which +is no great hurt. + +CLOTEN. +You’ll go with us? + +FIRST LORD. +I’ll attend your lordship. + +CLOTEN. +Nay, come, let’s go together. + +SECOND LORD. +Well, my lord. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Imogen and Pisanio. + +IMOGEN. +I would thou grew’st unto the shores o’ th’ haven, +And questioned’st every sail; if he should write, +And I not have it, ’twere a paper lost, +As offer’d mercy is. What was the last +That he spake to thee? + +PISANIO. +It was: his queen, his queen! + +IMOGEN. +Then wav’d his handkerchief? + +PISANIO. +And kiss’d it, madam. + +IMOGEN. +Senseless linen, happier therein than I! +And that was all? + +PISANIO. +No, madam; for so long +As he could make me with his eye, or ear +Distinguish him from others, he did keep +The deck, with glove, or hat, or handkerchief, +Still waving, as the fits and stirs of’s mind +Could best express how slow his soul sail’d on, +How swift his ship. + +IMOGEN. +Thou shouldst have made him +As little as a crow, or less, ere left +To after-eye him. + +PISANIO. +Madam, so I did. + +IMOGEN. +I would have broke mine eyestrings, crack’d them but +To look upon him, till the diminution +Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle; +Nay, followed him till he had melted from +The smallness of a gnat to air, and then +Have turn’d mine eye and wept. But, good Pisanio, +When shall we hear from him? + +PISANIO. +Be assur’d, madam, +With his next vantage. + +IMOGEN. +I did not take my leave of him, but had +Most pretty things to say. Ere I could tell him +How I would think on him at certain hours +Such thoughts and such; or I could make him swear +The shes of Italy should not betray +Mine interest and his honour; or have charg’d him, +At the sixth hour of morn, at noon, at midnight, +T’ encounter me with orisons, for then +I am in heaven for him; or ere I could +Give him that parting kiss which I had set +Betwixt two charming words, comes in my father, +And like the tyrannous breathing of the north +Shakes all our buds from growing. + + Enter a Lady. + +LADY. +The Queen, madam, +Desires your Highness’ company. + +IMOGEN. +Those things I bid you do, get them dispatch’d. +I will attend the Queen. + +PISANIO. +Madam, I shall. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Rome. Philario’s house. + + Enter Philario, Iachimo, a Frenchman, a Dutchman and a Spaniard. + +IACHIMO. +Believe it, sir, I have seen him in Britain. He was then of a crescent +note, expected to prove so worthy as since he hath been allowed the +name of. But I could then have look’d on him without the help of +admiration, though the catalogue of his endowments had been tabled by +his side, and I to peruse him by items. + +PHILARIO. +You speak of him when he was less furnish’d than now he is with that +which makes him both without and within. + +FRENCHMAN. +I have seen him in France; we had very many there could behold the sun +with as firm eyes as he. + +IACHIMO. +This matter of marrying his king’s daughter, wherein he must be weighed +rather by her value than his own, words him, I doubt not, a great deal +from the matter. + +FRENCHMAN. +And then his banishment. + +IACHIMO. +Ay, and the approbation of those that weep this lamentable divorce +under her colours are wonderfully to extend him, be it but to fortify +her judgement, which else an easy battery might lay flat, for taking a +beggar, without less quality. But how comes it he is to sojourn with +you? How creeps acquaintance? + +PHILARIO. +His father and I were soldiers together, to whom I have been often +bound for no less than my life. + + Enter Posthumus. + +Here comes the Briton. Let him be so entertained amongst you as suits +with gentlemen of your knowing to a stranger of his quality. I beseech +you all be better known to this gentleman, whom I commend to you as a +noble friend of mine. How worthy he is I will leave to appear +hereafter, rather than story him in his own hearing. + +FRENCHMAN. +Sir, we have known together in Orleans. + +POSTHUMUS. +Since when I have been debtor to you for courtesies, which I will be +ever to pay and yet pay still. + +FRENCHMAN. +Sir, you o’errate my poor kindness. I was glad I did atone my +countryman and you; it had been pity you should have been put together +with so mortal a purpose as then each bore, upon importance of so +slight and trivial a nature. + +POSTHUMUS. +By your pardon, sir. I was then a young traveller; rather shunn’d to go +even with what I heard than in my every action to be guided by others’ +experiences; but upon my mended judgement (if I offend not to say it is +mended) my quarrel was not altogether slight. + +FRENCHMAN. +Faith, yes, to be put to the arbitrement of swords, and by such two +that would by all likelihood have confounded one the other or have +fall’n both. + +IACHIMO. +Can we, with manners, ask what was the difference? + +FRENCHMAN. +Safely, I think. ’Twas a contention in public, which may, without +contradiction, suffer the report. It was much like an argument that +fell out last night, where each of us fell in praise of our country +mistresses; this gentleman at that time vouching (and upon warrant of +bloody affirmation) his to be more fair, virtuous, wise, chaste, +constant, qualified, and less attemptable, than any the rarest of our +ladies in France. + +IACHIMO. +That lady is not now living, or this gentleman’s opinion, by this, worn +out. + +POSTHUMUS. +She holds her virtue still, and I my mind. + +IACHIMO. +You must not so far prefer her ’fore ours of Italy. + +POSTHUMUS. +Being so far provok’d as I was in France, I would abate her nothing, +though I profess myself her adorer, not her friend. + +IACHIMO. +As fair and as good—a kind of hand-in-hand comparison—had been +something too fair and too good for any lady in Britain. If she went +before others I have seen as that diamond of yours outlustres many I +have beheld, I could not but believe she excelled many; but I have not +seen the most precious diamond that is, nor you the lady. + +POSTHUMUS. +I prais’d her as I rated her. So do I my stone. + +IACHIMO. +What do you esteem it at? + +POSTHUMUS. +More than the world enjoys. + +IACHIMO. +Either your unparagon’d mistress is dead, or she’s outpriz’d by a +trifle. + +POSTHUMUS. +You are mistaken: the one may be sold or given, if there were wealth +enough for the purchase or merit for the gift; the other is not a thing +for sale, and only the gift of the gods. + +IACHIMO. +Which the gods have given you? + +POSTHUMUS. +Which by their graces I will keep. + +IACHIMO. +You may wear her in title yours; but you know strange fowl light upon +neighbouring ponds. Your ring may be stol’n too. So your brace of +unprizable estimations, the one is but frail and the other casual; a +cunning thief, or a that-way-accomplish’d courtier, would hazard the +winning both of first and last. + +POSTHUMUS. +Your Italy contains none so accomplish’d a courtier to convince the +honour of my mistress, if in the holding or loss of that you term her +frail. I do nothing doubt you have store of thieves; notwithstanding, I +fear not my ring. + +PHILARIO. +Let us leave here, gentlemen. + +POSTHUMUS. +Sir, with all my heart. This worthy signior, I thank him, makes no +stranger of me; we are familiar at first. + +IACHIMO. +With five times so much conversation I should get ground of your fair +mistress; make her go back even to the yielding, had I admittance and +opportunity to friend. + +POSTHUMUS. +No, no. + +IACHIMO. +I dare thereupon pawn the moiety of my estate to your ring, which, in +my opinion, o’ervalues it something. But I make my wager rather against +your confidence than her reputation; and, to bar your offence herein +too, I durst attempt it against any lady in the world. + +POSTHUMUS. +You are a great deal abus’d in too bold a persuasion, and I doubt not +you sustain what y’are worthy of by your attempt. + +IACHIMO. +What’s that? + +POSTHUMUS. +A repulse; though your attempt, as you call it, deserve more; a +punishment too. + +PHILARIO. +Gentlemen, enough of this. It came in too suddenly; let it die as it +was born, and I pray you be better acquainted. + +IACHIMO. +Would I had put my estate and my neighbour’s on th’ approbation of what +I have spoke! + +POSTHUMUS. +What lady would you choose to assail? + +IACHIMO. +Yours, whom in constancy you think stands so safe. I will lay you ten +thousand ducats to your ring that, commend me to the court where your +lady is, with no more advantage than the opportunity of a second +conference, and I will bring from thence that honour of hers which you +imagine so reserv’d. + +POSTHUMUS. +I will wage against your gold, gold to it. My ring I hold dear as my +finger; ’tis part of it. + +IACHIMO. +You are a friend, and therein the wiser. If you buy ladies’ flesh at a +million a dram, you cannot preserve it from tainting. But I see you +have some religion in you, that you fear. + +POSTHUMUS. +This is but a custom in your tongue; you bear a graver purpose, I hope. + +IACHIMO. +I am the master of my speeches, and would undergo what’s spoken, I +swear. + +POSTHUMUS. +Will you? I shall but lend my diamond till your return. Let there be +covenants drawn between’s. My mistress exceeds in goodness the hugeness +of your unworthy thinking. I dare you to this match: here’s my ring. + +PHILARIO. +I will have it no lay. + +IACHIMO. +By the gods, it is one. If I bring you no sufficient testimony that I +have enjoy’d the dearest bodily part of your mistress, my ten thousand +ducats are yours; so is your diamond too. If I come off, and leave her +in such honour as you have trust in, she your jewel, this your jewel, +and my gold are yours: provided I have your commendation for my more +free entertainment. + +POSTHUMUS. +I embrace these conditions; let us have articles betwixt us. Only, thus +far you shall answer: if you make your voyage upon her, and give me +directly to understand you have prevail’d, I am no further your enemy; +she is not worth our debate; if she remain unseduc’d, you not making it +appear otherwise, for your ill opinion and th’ assault you have made to +her chastity you shall answer me with your sword. + +IACHIMO. +Your hand, a covenant! We will have these things set down by lawful +counsel, and straight away for Britain, lest the bargain should catch +cold and starve. I will fetch my gold and have our two wagers recorded. + +POSTHUMUS. +Agreed. + + [_Exeunt Posthumus and Iachimo._] + +FRENCHMAN. +Will this hold, think you? + +PHILARIO. +Signior Iachimo will not from it. Pray let us follow ’em. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VI. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Queen, Ladies and Cornelius. + +QUEEN. +Whiles yet the dew’s on ground, gather those flowers; +Make haste; who has the note of them? + +LADY. +I, madam. + +QUEEN. +Dispatch. + + [_Exeunt Ladies._] + +Now, Master Doctor, have you brought those drugs? + +CORNELIUS. +Pleaseth your Highness, ay. Here they are, madam. + + [_Presenting a box._] + +But I beseech your Grace, without offence, +(My conscience bids me ask) wherefore you have +Commanded of me these most poisonous compounds +Which are the movers of a languishing death, +But, though slow, deadly? + +QUEEN. +I wonder, Doctor, +Thou ask’st me such a question. Have I not been +Thy pupil long? Hast thou not learn’d me how +To make perfumes? distil? preserve? yea, so +That our great king himself doth woo me oft +For my confections? Having thus far proceeded +(Unless thou think’st me devilish) is’t not meet +That I did amplify my judgement in +Other conclusions? I will try the forces +Of these thy compounds on such creatures as +We count not worth the hanging (but none human) +To try the vigour of them, and apply +Allayments to their act, and by them gather +Their several virtues and effects. + +CORNELIUS. +Your Highness +Shall from this practice but make hard your heart; +Besides, the seeing these effects will be +Both noisome and infectious. + +QUEEN. +O, content thee. + + Enter Pisanio. + +[_Aside._] Here comes a flattering rascal; upon him +Will I first work. He’s for his master, +An enemy to my son. How now, Pisanio! +Doctor, your service for this time is ended; +Take your own way. + +CORNELIUS. +[_Aside._] I do suspect you, madam; +But you shall do no harm. + +QUEEN. +[_To Pisanio._] Hark thee, a word. + +CORNELIUS. +[_Aside._] I do not like her. She doth think she has +Strange ling’ring poisons. I do know her spirit, +And will not trust one of her malice with +A drug of such damn’d nature. Those she has +Will stupefy and dull the sense awhile, +Which first perchance she’ll prove on cats and dogs, +Then afterward up higher; but there is +No danger in what show of death it makes, +More than the locking up the spirits a time, +To be more fresh, reviving. She is fool’d +With a most false effect; and I the truer +So to be false with her. + +QUEEN. +No further service, Doctor, +Until I send for thee. + +CORNELIUS. +I humbly take my leave. + + [_Exit._] + +QUEEN. +Weeps she still, say’st thou? Dost thou think in time +She will not quench, and let instructions enter +Where folly now possesses? Do thou work. +When thou shalt bring me word she loves my son, +I’ll tell thee on the instant thou art then +As great as is thy master; greater, for +His fortunes all lie speechless, and his name +Is at last gasp. Return he cannot, nor +Continue where he is. To shift his being +Is to exchange one misery with another, +And every day that comes comes to decay +A day’s work in him. What shalt thou expect +To be depender on a thing that leans, +Who cannot be new built, nor has no friends +So much as but to prop him? + + [_The Queen drops the box. Pisanio takes it up._] + +Thou tak’st up +Thou know’st not what; but take it for thy labour. +It is a thing I made, which hath the King +Five times redeem’d from death. I do not know +What is more cordial. Nay, I prithee take it; +It is an earnest of a further good +That I mean to thee. Tell thy mistress how +The case stands with her; do’t as from thyself. +Think what a chance thou changest on; but think +Thou hast thy mistress still; to boot, my son, +Who shall take notice of thee. I’ll move the King +To any shape of thy preferment, such +As thou’lt desire; and then myself, I chiefly, +That set thee on to this desert, am bound +To load thy merit richly. Call my women. +Think on my words. + + [_Exit Pisanio._] + +A sly and constant knave, +Not to be shak’d; the agent for his master, +And the remembrancer of her to hold +The hand-fast to her lord. I have given him that +Which, if he take, shall quite unpeople her +Of liegers for her sweet; and which she after, +Except she bend her humour, shall be assur’d +To taste of too. + + Enter Pisanio and Ladies. + +So, so. Well done, well done. +The violets, cowslips, and the primroses, +Bear to my closet. Fare thee well, Pisanio; +Think on my words. + + [_Exeunt Queen and Ladies._] + +PISANIO. +And shall do. +But when to my good lord I prove untrue +I’ll choke myself: there’s all I’ll do for you. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VII. Britain. The palace. + + Enter Imogen alone. + +IMOGEN. +A father cruel and a step-dame false; +A foolish suitor to a wedded lady +That hath her husband banish’d. O, that husband! +My supreme crown of grief! and those repeated +Vexations of it! Had I been thief-stol’n, +As my two brothers, happy! but most miserable +Is the desire that’s glorious. Blessed be those, +How mean soe’er, that have their honest wills, +Which seasons comfort. Who may this be? Fie! + + Enter Pisanio and Iachimo. + +PISANIO. +Madam, a noble gentleman of Rome +Comes from my lord with letters. + +IACHIMO. +Change you, madam? +The worthy Leonatus is in safety, +And greets your Highness dearly. + + [_Presents a letter._] + +IMOGEN. +Thanks, good sir. +You’re kindly welcome. + +IACHIMO. +[_Aside._] All of her that is out of door most rich! +If she be furnish’d with a mind so rare, +She is alone th’ Arabian bird, and I +Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend! +Arm me, audacity, from head to foot! +Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight; +Rather, directly fly. + +IMOGEN. +[_Reads._] _He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am +most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your +trust. + LEONATUS._ + +So far I read aloud; +But even the very middle of my heart +Is warm’d by th’ rest and takes it thankfully. +You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I +Have words to bid you; and shall find it so +In all that I can do. + +IACHIMO. +Thanks, fairest lady. +What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes +To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop +Of sea and land, which can distinguish ’twixt +The fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones +Upon the number’d beach, and can we not +Partition make with spectacles so precious +’Twixt fair and foul? + +IMOGEN. +What makes your admiration? + +IACHIMO. +It cannot be i’ th’ eye, for apes and monkeys, +’Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and +Contemn with mows the other; nor i’ th’ judgement, +For idiots in this case of favour would +Be wisely definite; nor i’ th’ appetite; +Sluttery, to such neat excellence oppos’d, +Should make desire vomit emptiness, +Not so allur’d to feed. + +IMOGEN. +What is the matter, trow? + +IACHIMO. +The cloyed will— +That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub +Both fill’d and running—ravening first the lamb, +Longs after for the garbage. + +IMOGEN. +What, dear sir, +Thus raps you? Are you well? + +IACHIMO. +Thanks, madam; well. Beseech you, sir, +Desire my man’s abode where I did leave him. +He’s strange and peevish. + +PISANIO. +I was going, sir, +To give him welcome. + + [_Exit._] + +IMOGEN. +Continues well my lord? His health beseech you? + +IACHIMO. +Well, madam. + +IMOGEN. +Is he dispos’d to mirth? I hope he is. + +IACHIMO. +Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there +So merry and so gamesome. He is call’d +The Briton reveller. + +IMOGEN. +When he was here +He did incline to sadness, and oft-times +Not knowing why. + +IACHIMO. +I never saw him sad. +There is a Frenchman his companion, one +An eminent monsieur that, it seems, much loves +A Gallian girl at home. He furnaces +The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton +(Your lord, I mean) laughs from’s free lungs, cries “O, +Can my sides hold, to think that man, who knows +By history, report, or his own proof, +What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose +But must be, will’s free hours languish for +Assured bondage?” + +IMOGEN. +Will my lord say so? + +IACHIMO. +Ay, madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter. +It is a recreation to be by +And hear him mock the Frenchman. But heavens know +Some men are much to blame. + +IMOGEN. +Not he, I hope. + +IACHIMO. +Not he; but yet heaven’s bounty towards him might +Be us’d more thankfully. In himself, ’tis much; +In you, which I account his, beyond all talents. +Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound +To pity too. + +IMOGEN. +What do you pity, sir? + +IACHIMO. +Two creatures heartily. + +IMOGEN. +Am I one, sir? +You look on me: what wreck discern you in me +Deserves your pity? + +IACHIMO. +Lamentable! What, +To hide me from the radiant sun and solace +I’ th’ dungeon by a snuff? + +IMOGEN. +I pray you, sir, +Deliver with more openness your answers +To my demands. Why do you pity me? + +IACHIMO. +That others do, +I was about to say, enjoy your—But +It is an office of the gods to venge it, +Not mine to speak on’t. + +IMOGEN. +You do seem to know +Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you, +Since doubting things go ill often hurts more +Than to be sure they do; for certainties +Either are past remedies, or, timely knowing, +The remedy then born—discover to me +What both you spur and stop. + +IACHIMO. +Had I this cheek +To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, +Whose every touch, would force the feeler’s soul +To th’ oath of loyalty; this object, which +Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye, +Fixing it only here; should I, damn’d then, +Slaver with lips as common as the stairs +That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands +Made hard with hourly falsehood (falsehood as +With labour): then by-peeping in an eye +Base and illustrious as the smoky light +That’s fed with stinking tallow: it were fit +That all the plagues of hell should at one time +Encounter such revolt. + +IMOGEN. +My lord, I fear, +Has forgot Britain. + +IACHIMO. +And himself. Not I +Inclin’d to this intelligence pronounce +The beggary of his change; but ’tis your graces +That from my mutest conscience to my tongue +Charms this report out. + +IMOGEN. +Let me hear no more. + +IACHIMO. +O dearest soul, your cause doth strike my heart +With pity that doth make me sick! A lady +So fair, and fasten’d to an empery, +Would make the great’st king double, to be partner’d +With tomboys hir’d with that self exhibition +Which your own coffers yield! with diseas’d ventures +That play with all infirmities for gold +Which rottenness can lend nature! Such boil’d stuff +As well might poison poison! Be reveng’d; +Or she that bore you was no queen, and you +Recoil from your great stock. + +IMOGEN. +Reveng’d? +How should I be reveng’d? If this be true, +(As I have such a heart that both mine ears +Must not in haste abuse) if it be true, +How should I be reveng’d? + +IACHIMO. +Should he make me +Live like Diana’s priest betwixt cold sheets, +Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps, +In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. +I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure, +More noble than that runagate to your bed, +And will continue fast to your affection, +Still close as sure. + +IMOGEN. +What ho, Pisanio! + +IACHIMO. +Let me my service tender on your lips. + +IMOGEN. +Away! I do condemn mine ears that have +So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable, +Thou wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not +For such an end thou seek’st, as base as strange. +Thou wrong’st a gentleman who is as far +From thy report as thou from honour; and +Solicits here a lady that disdains +Thee and the devil alike. What ho, Pisanio! +The King my father shall be made acquainted +Of thy assault. If he shall think it fit +A saucy stranger in his court to mart +As in a Romish stew, and to expound +His beastly mind to us, he hath a court +He little cares for, and a daughter who +He not respects at all. What ho, Pisanio! + +IACHIMO. +O happy Leonatus! I may say +The credit that thy lady hath of thee +Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness +Her assur’d credit. Blessed live you long, +A lady to the worthiest sir that ever +Country call’d his! and you his mistress, only +For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. +I have spoke this to know if your affiance +Were deeply rooted, and shall make your lord +That which he is new o’er; and he is one +The truest manner’d, such a holy witch +That he enchants societies into him, +Half all men’s hearts are his. + +IMOGEN. +You make amends. + +IACHIMO. +He sits ’mongst men like a descended god: +He hath a kind of honour sets him off +More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, +Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur’d +To try your taking of a false report, which hath +Honour’d with confirmation your great judgement +In the election of a sir so rare, +Which you know cannot err. The love I bear him +Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you, +Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray your pardon. + +IMOGEN. +All’s well, sir; take my pow’r i’ th’ court for yours. + +IACHIMO. +My humble thanks. I had almost forgot +T’ entreat your Grace but in a small request, +And yet of moment too, for it concerns +Your lord; myself and other noble friends +Are partners in the business. + +IMOGEN. +Pray what is’t? + +IACHIMO. +Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord +(The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums +To buy a present for the Emperor; +Which I, the factor for the rest, have done +In France. ’Tis plate of rare device, and jewels +Of rich and exquisite form, their values great; +And I am something curious, being strange, +To have them in safe stowage. May it please you +To take them in protection? + +IMOGEN. +Willingly; +And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since +My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them +In my bedchamber. + +IACHIMO. +They are in a trunk, +Attended by my men. I will make bold +To send them to you only for this night; +I must aboard tomorrow. + +IMOGEN. +O, no, no. + +IACHIMO. +Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word +By length’ning my return. From Gallia +I cross’d the seas on purpose and on promise +To see your Grace. + +IMOGEN. +I thank you for your pains. +But not away tomorrow! + +IACHIMO. +O, I must, madam. +Therefore I shall beseech you, if you please +To greet your lord with writing, do’t tonight. +I have outstood my time, which is material +To th’ tender of our present. + +IMOGEN. +I will write. +Send your trunk to me; it shall safe be kept +And truly yielded you. You’re very welcome. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. Britain. Before Cymbeline’s palace. + + + Enter Cloten and the two Lords. + +CLOTEN. +Was there ever man had such luck! When I kiss’d the jack, upon an +upcast to be hit away! I had a hundred pound on’t; and then a whoreson +jackanapes must take me up for swearing, as if I borrowed mine oaths of +him, and might not spend them at my pleasure. + +FIRST LORD. +What got he by that? You have broke his pate with your bowl. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] If his wit had been like him that broke it, it would have +run all out. + +CLOTEN. +When a gentleman is dispos’d to swear, it is not for any standers-by to +curtail his oaths. Ha? + +SECOND LORD. +No, my lord; [_Aside._] nor crop the ears of them. + +CLOTEN. +Whoreson dog! I gave him satisfaction. Would he had been one of my +rank! + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] To have smell’d like a fool. + +CLOTEN. +I am not vex’d more at anything in th’ earth. A pox on’t! I had rather +not be so noble as I am; they dare not fight with me, because of the +Queen my mother. Every jackslave hath his bellyful of fighting, and I +must go up and down like a cock that nobody can match. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] You are cock and capon too; and you crow, cock, with your +comb on. + +CLOTEN. +Sayest thou? + +SECOND LORD. +It is not fit your lordship should undertake every companion that you +give offence to. + +CLOTEN. +No, I know that; but it is fit I should commit offence to my inferiors. + +SECOND LORD. +Ay, it is fit for your lordship only. + +CLOTEN. +Why, so I say. + +FIRST LORD. +Did you hear of a stranger that’s come to court tonight? + +CLOTEN. +A stranger, and I not known on’t? + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] He’s a strange fellow himself, and knows it not. + +FIRST LORD. +There’s an Italian come, and, ’tis thought, one of Leonatus’ friends. + +CLOTEN. +Leonatus? A banish’d rascal; and he’s another, whatsoever he be. Who +told you of this stranger? + +FIRST LORD. +One of your lordship’s pages. + +CLOTEN. +Is it fit I went to look upon him? Is there no derogation in’t? + +SECOND LORD. +You cannot derogate, my lord. + +CLOTEN. +Not easily, I think. + +SECOND LORD. +[_Aside._] You are a fool granted; therefore your issues, being +foolish, do not derogate. + +CLOTEN. +Come, I’ll go see this Italian. What I have lost today at bowls I’ll +win tonight of him. Come, go. + +SECOND LORD. +I’ll attend your lordship. + + [_Exeunt Cloten and First Lord._] + +That such a crafty devil as is his mother +Should yield the world this ass! A woman that +Bears all down with her brain; and this her son +Cannot take two from twenty, for his heart, +And leave eighteen. Alas, poor princess, +Thou divine Imogen, what thou endur’st, +Betwixt a father by thy step-dame govern’d, +A mother hourly coining plots, a wooer +More hateful than the foul expulsion is +Of thy dear husband, than that horrid act +Of the divorce he’d make! The heavens hold firm +The walls of thy dear honour, keep unshak’d +That temple, thy fair mind, that thou mayst stand +T’ enjoy thy banish’d lord and this great land! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Britain. Imogen’s bedchamber in Cymbeline’s palace; a trunk +in one corner. + + Enter Imogen in her bed, and a Lady attending. + +IMOGEN. +Who’s there? My woman Helen? + +LADY. +Please you, madam. + +IMOGEN. +What hour is it? + +LADY. +Almost midnight, madam. + +IMOGEN. +I have read three hours then. Mine eyes are weak; +Fold down the leaf where I have left. To bed. +Take not away the taper, leave it burning; +And if thou canst awake by four o’ th’ clock, +I prithee call me. Sleep hath seiz’d me wholly. + + [_Exit Lady._] + +To your protection I commend me, gods. +From fairies and the tempters of the night +Guard me, beseech ye! + + [_Sleeps. Iachimo comes from the trunk._] + +IACHIMO. +The crickets sing, and man’s o’er-labour’d sense +Repairs itself by rest. Our Tarquin thus +Did softly press the rushes ere he waken’d +The chastity he wounded. Cytherea, +How bravely thou becom’st thy bed! fresh lily, +And whiter than the sheets! That I might touch! +But kiss; one kiss! Rubies unparagon’d, +How dearly they do’t! ’Tis her breathing that +Perfumes the chamber thus. The flame o’ th’ taper +Bows toward her and would under-peep her lids +To see th’ enclosed lights, now canopied +Under these windows white and azure, lac’d +With blue of heaven’s own tinct. But my design +To note the chamber. I will write all down: +Such and such pictures; there the window; such +Th’ adornment of her bed; the arras, figures, +Why, such and such; and the contents o’ th’ story. +Ah, but some natural notes about her body +Above ten thousand meaner movables +Would testify, t’ enrich mine inventory. +O sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her! +And be her sense but as a monument, +Thus in a chapel lying! Come off, come off; + + [_Taking off her bracelet._] + +As slippery as the Gordian knot was hard! +’Tis mine; and this will witness outwardly, +As strongly as the conscience does within, +To th’ madding of her lord. On her left breast +A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops +I’ th’ bottom of a cowslip. Here’s a voucher +Stronger than ever law could make; this secret +Will force him think I have pick’d the lock and ta’en +The treasure of her honour. No more. To what end? +Why should I write this down that’s riveted, +Screw’d to my memory? She hath been reading late +The tale of Tereus; here the leaf’s turn’d down +Where Philomel gave up. I have enough. +To th’ trunk again, and shut the spring of it. +Swift, swift, you dragons of the night, that dawning +May bare the raven’s eye! I lodge in fear; +Though this a heavenly angel, hell is here. + + [_Clock strikes._] + +One, two, three. Time, time! + + [_Exit into the trunk._] + +SCENE III. Cymbeline’s palace. An ante-chamber adjoining Imogen’s +apartments. + + Enter Cloten and Lords. + +FIRST LORD. +Your lordship is the most patient man in loss, the most coldest that +ever turn’d up ace. + +CLOTEN. +It would make any man cold to lose. + +FIRST LORD. +But not every man patient after the noble temper of your lordship. You +are most hot and furious when you win. + +CLOTEN. +Winning will put any man into courage. If I could get this foolish +Imogen, I should have gold enough. It’s almost morning, is’t not? + +FIRST LORD. +Day, my lord. + +CLOTEN. +I would this music would come. I am advised to give her music a +mornings; they say it will penetrate. + + Enter Musicians. + +Come on, tune. If you can penetrate her with your fingering, so. We’ll +try with tongue too. If none will do, let her remain; but I’ll never +give o’er. First, a very excellent good-conceited thing; after, a +wonderful sweet air, with admirable rich words to it, and then let her +consider. + +SONG + + + Hark, hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings, + And Phœbus ’gins arise, + His steeds to water at those springs + On chalic’d flow’rs that lies; + And winking Mary-buds begin + To ope their golden eyes. + With everything that pretty is, + My lady sweet, arise; + Arise, arise! + +CLOTEN. +So, get you gone. If this penetrate, I will consider your music the +better; if it do not, it is a vice in her ears which horsehairs and +calves’ guts, nor the voice of unpaved eunuch to boot, can never amend. + + [_Exeunt Musicians._] + + Enter Cymbeline and Queen. + +SECOND LORD. +Here comes the King. + +CLOTEN. +I am glad I was up so late, for that’s the reason I was up so early. He +cannot choose but take this service I have done fatherly.—Good morrow +to your Majesty and to my gracious mother. + +CYMBELINE. +Attend you here the door of our stern daughter? +Will she not forth? + +CLOTEN. +I have assail’d her with musics, but she vouchsafes no notice. + +CYMBELINE. +The exile of her minion is too new; +She hath not yet forgot him; some more time +Must wear the print of his remembrance on’t, +And then she’s yours. + +QUEEN. +You are most bound to th’ King, +Who lets go by no vantages that may +Prefer you to his daughter. Frame yourself +To orderly solicits, and be friended +With aptness of the season; make denials +Increase your services; so seem as if +You were inspir’d to do those duties which +You tender to her; that you in all obey her, +Save when command to your dismission tends, +And therein you are senseless. + +CLOTEN. +Senseless? Not so. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +So like you, sir, ambassadors from Rome; +The one is Caius Lucius. + +CYMBELINE. +A worthy fellow, +Albeit he comes on angry purpose now; +But that’s no fault of his. We must receive him +According to the honour of his sender; +And towards himself, his goodness forespent on us, +We must extend our notice. Our dear son, +When you have given good morning to your mistress, +Attend the Queen and us; we shall have need +T’ employ you towards this Roman. Come, our queen. + + [_Exeunt all but Cloten._] + +CLOTEN. +If she be up, I’ll speak with her; if not, +Let her lie still and dream. By your leave, ho! + + [_Knocks._] + +I know her women are about her; what +If I do line one of their hands? ’Tis gold +Which buys admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes +Diana’s rangers false themselves, yield up +Their deer to th’ stand o’ th’ stealer; and ’tis gold +Which makes the true man kill’d and saves the thief; +Nay, sometime hangs both thief and true man. What +Can it not do and undo? I will make +One of her women lawyer to me, for +I yet not understand the case myself. +By your leave. + + [_Knocks._] + + Enter a Lady. + +LADY. +Who’s there that knocks? + +CLOTEN. +A gentleman. + +LADY. +No more? + +CLOTEN. +Yes, and a gentlewoman’s son. + +LADY. +That’s more +Than some whose tailors are as dear as yours +Can justly boast of. What’s your lordship’s pleasure? + +CLOTEN. +Your lady’s person; is she ready? + +LADY. +Ay, +To keep her chamber. + +CLOTEN. +There is gold for you; sell me your good report. + +LADY. +How? My good name? or to report of you +What I shall think is good? The Princess! + + Enter Imogen. + +CLOTEN. +Good morrow, fairest sister. Your sweet hand. + + [_Exit Lady._] + +IMOGEN. +Good morrow, sir. You lay out too much pains +For purchasing but trouble. The thanks I give +Is telling you that I am poor of thanks, +And scarce can spare them. + +CLOTEN. +Still I swear I love you. + +IMOGEN. +If you but said so, ’twere as deep with me. +If you swear still, your recompense is still +That I regard it not. + +CLOTEN. +This is no answer. + +IMOGEN. +But that you shall not say I yield, being silent, +I would not speak. I pray you spare me. Faith, +I shall unfold equal discourtesy +To your best kindness; one of your great knowing +Should learn, being taught, forbearance. + +CLOTEN. +To leave you in your madness ’twere my sin; +I will not. + +IMOGEN. +Fools are not mad folks. + +CLOTEN. +Do you call me fool? + +IMOGEN. +As I am mad, I do; +If you’ll be patient, I’ll no more be mad; +That cures us both. I am much sorry, sir, +You put me to forget a lady’s manners +By being so verbal; and learn now, for all, +That I, which know my heart, do here pronounce, +By th’ very truth of it, I care not for you, +And am so near the lack of charity +To accuse myself I hate you; which I had rather +You felt than make’t my boast. + +CLOTEN. +You sin against +Obedience, which you owe your father. For +The contract you pretend with that base wretch, +One bred of alms and foster’d with cold dishes, +With scraps o’ th’ court, it is no contract, none. +And though it be allowed in meaner parties +(Yet who than he more mean?) to knit their souls +(On whom there is no more dependency +But brats and beggary) in self-figur’d knot, +Yet you are curb’d from that enlargement by +The consequence o’ th’ crown, and must not foil +The precious note of it with a base slave, +A hilding for a livery, a squire’s cloth, +A pantler; not so eminent! + +IMOGEN. +Profane fellow! +Wert thou the son of Jupiter, and no more +But what thou art besides, thou wert too base +To be his groom. Thou wert dignified enough, +Even to the point of envy, if ’twere made +Comparative for your virtues to be styl’d +The under-hangman of his kingdom, and hated +For being preferr’d so well. + +CLOTEN. +The south fog rot him! + +IMOGEN. +He never can meet more mischance than come +To be but nam’d of thee. His mean’st garment +That ever hath but clipp’d his body, is dearer +In my respect, than all the hairs above thee, +Were they all made such men. How now, Pisanio! + + Enter Pisanio. + +CLOTEN. +‘His garment’! Now the devil— + +IMOGEN. +To Dorothy my woman hie thee presently. + +CLOTEN. +‘His garment’! + +IMOGEN. +I am sprited with a fool; +Frighted, and ang’red worse. Go bid my woman +Search for a jewel that too casually +Hath left mine arm. It was thy master’s; shrew me, +If I would lose it for a revenue +Of any king’s in Europe! I do think +I saw’t this morning; confident I am +Last night ’twas on mine arm; I kiss’d it. +I hope it be not gone to tell my lord +That I kiss aught but he. + +PISANIO. +’Twill not be lost. + +IMOGEN. +I hope so. Go and search. + + [_Exit Pisanio._] + +CLOTEN. +You have abus’d me. +‘His meanest garment’! + +IMOGEN. +Ay, I said so, sir. +If you will make ’t an action, call witness to ’t. + +CLOTEN. +I will inform your father. + +IMOGEN. +Your mother too. +She’s my good lady and will conceive, I hope, +But the worst of me. So I leave you, sir, +To th’ worst of discontent. + + [_Exit._] + +CLOTEN. +I’ll be reveng’d. +‘His mean’st garment’! Well. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Rome. Philario’s house. + + Enter Posthumus and Philario. + +POSTHUMUS. +Fear it not, sir; I would I were so sure +To win the King as I am bold her honour +Will remain hers. + +PHILARIO. +What means do you make to him? + +POSTHUMUS. +Not any; but abide the change of time, +Quake in the present winter’s state, and wish +That warmer days would come. In these fear’d hopes +I barely gratify your love; they failing, +I must die much your debtor. + +PHILARIO. +Your very goodness and your company +O’erpays all I can do. By this your king +Hath heard of great Augustus. Caius Lucius +Will do’s commission throughly; and I think +He’ll grant the tribute, send th’ arrearages, +Or look upon our Romans, whose remembrance +Is yet fresh in their grief. + +POSTHUMUS. +I do believe +Statist though I am none, nor like to be, +That this will prove a war; and you shall hear +The legions now in Gallia sooner landed +In our not-fearing Britain than have tidings +Of any penny tribute paid. Our countrymen +Are men more order’d than when Julius Cæsar +Smil’d at their lack of skill, but found their courage +Worthy his frowning at. Their discipline, +Now mingled with their courages, will make known +To their approvers they are people such +That mend upon the world. + + Enter Iachimo. + +PHILARIO. +See! Iachimo! + +POSTHUMUS. +The swiftest harts have posted you by land, +And winds of all the corners kiss’d your sails, +To make your vessel nimble. + +PHILARIO. +Welcome, sir. + +POSTHUMUS. +I hope the briefness of your answer made +The speediness of your return. + +IACHIMO. +Your lady +Is one of the fairest that I have look’d upon. + +POSTHUMUS. +And therewithal the best; or let her beauty +Look through a casement to allure false hearts, +And be false with them. + +IACHIMO. +Here are letters for you. + +POSTHUMUS. +Their tenour good, I trust. + +IACHIMO. +’Tis very like. + +PHILARIO. +Was Caius Lucius in the Britain court +When you were there? + +IACHIMO. +He was expected then, +But not approach’d. + +POSTHUMUS. +All is well yet. +Sparkles this stone as it was wont, or is’t not +Too dull for your good wearing? + +IACHIMO. +If I have lost it, +I should have lost the worth of it in gold. +I’ll make a journey twice as far t’ enjoy +A second night of such sweet shortness which +Was mine in Britain; for the ring is won. + +POSTHUMUS. +The stone’s too hard to come by. + +IACHIMO. +Not a whit, +Your lady being so easy. + +POSTHUMUS. +Make not, sir, +Your loss your sport. I hope you know that we +Must not continue friends. + +IACHIMO. +Good sir, we must, +If you keep covenant. Had I not brought +The knowledge of your mistress home, I grant +We were to question farther; but I now +Profess myself the winner of her honour, +Together with your ring; and not the wronger +Of her or you, having proceeded but +By both your wills. + +POSTHUMUS. +If you can make’t apparent +That you have tasted her in bed, my hand +And ring is yours. If not, the foul opinion +You had of her pure honour gains or loses +Your sword or mine, or masterless leaves both +To who shall find them. + +IACHIMO. +Sir, my circumstances, +Being so near the truth as I will make them, +Must first induce you to believe; whose strength +I will confirm with oath; which I doubt not +You’ll give me leave to spare when you shall find +You need it not. + +POSTHUMUS. +Proceed. + +IACHIMO. +First, her bedchamber, +(Where I confess I slept not, but profess +Had that was well worth watching) it was hang’d +With tapestry of silk and silver; the story, +Proud Cleopatra when she met her Roman +And Cydnus swell’d above the banks, or for +The press of boats or pride. A piece of work +So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive +In workmanship and value; which I wonder’d +Could be so rarely and exactly wrought, +Since the true life on’t was— + +POSTHUMUS. +This is true; +And this you might have heard of here, by me +Or by some other. + +IACHIMO. +More particulars +Must justify my knowledge. + +POSTHUMUS. +So they must, +Or do your honour injury. + +IACHIMO. +The chimney +Is south the chamber, and the chimneypiece +Chaste Dian bathing. Never saw I figures +So likely to report themselves. The cutter +Was as another nature, dumb; outwent her, +Motion and breath left out. + +POSTHUMUS. +This is a thing +Which you might from relation likewise reap, +Being, as it is, much spoke of. + +IACHIMO. +The roof o’ th’ chamber +With golden cherubins is fretted; her andirons +(I had forgot them) were two winking Cupids +Of silver, each on one foot standing, nicely +Depending on their brands. + +POSTHUMUS. +This is her honour! +Let it be granted you have seen all this, and praise +Be given to your remembrance; the description +Of what is in her chamber nothing saves +The wager you have laid. + +IACHIMO. +Then, if you can, [_Shows the bracelet_] +Be pale. I beg but leave to air this jewel. See! +And now ’tis up again. It must be married +To that your diamond; I’ll keep them. + +POSTHUMUS. +Jove! +Once more let me behold it. Is it that +Which I left with her? + +IACHIMO. +Sir (I thank her) that. +She stripp’d it from her arm; I see her yet; +Her pretty action did outsell her gift, +And yet enrich’d it too. She gave it me, and said +She priz’d it once. + +POSTHUMUS. +May be she pluck’d it off +To send it me. + +IACHIMO. +She writes so to you, doth she? + +POSTHUMUS. +O, no, no, no! ’tis true. Here, take this too; + + [_Gives the ring._] + +It is a basilisk unto mine eye, +Kills me to look on’t. Let there be no honour +Where there is beauty; truth where semblance; love +Where there’s another man. The vows of women +Of no more bondage be to where they are made +Than they are to their virtues, which is nothing. +O, above measure false! + +PHILARIO. +Have patience, sir, +And take your ring again; ’tis not yet won. +It may be probable she lost it, or +Who knows if one her women, being corrupted +Hath stol’n it from her? + +POSTHUMUS. +Very true; +And so I hope he came by’t. Back my ring. +Render to me some corporal sign about her, +More evident than this; for this was stol’n. + +IACHIMO. +By Jupiter, I had it from her arm! + +POSTHUMUS. +Hark you, he swears; by Jupiter he swears. +’Tis true, nay, keep the ring, ’tis true. I am sure +She would not lose it. Her attendants are +All sworn and honourable:—they induc’d to steal it! +And by a stranger! No, he hath enjoy’d her. +The cognizance of her incontinency +Is this: she hath bought the name of whore thus dearly. +There, take thy hire; and all the fiends of hell +Divide themselves between you! + + +PHILARIO. +Sir, be patient; +This is not strong enough to be believ’d +Of one persuaded well of. + +POSTHUMUS. +Never talk on’t; +She hath been colted by him. + +IACHIMO. +If you seek +For further satisfying, under her breast +(Worthy the pressing) lies a mole, right proud +Of that most delicate lodging. By my life, +I kiss’d it; and it gave me present hunger +To feed again, though full. You do remember +This stain upon her? + +POSTHUMUS. +Ay, and it doth confirm +Another stain, as big as hell can hold, +Were there no more but it. + +IACHIMO. +Will you hear more? + +POSTHUMUS. +Spare your arithmetic; never count the turns. +Once, and a million! + +IACHIMO. +I’ll be sworn— + +POSTHUMUS. +No swearing. +If you will swear you have not done’t, you lie; +And I will kill thee if thou dost deny +Thou’st made me cuckold. + +IACHIMO. +I’ll deny nothing. + +POSTHUMUS. +O that I had her here to tear her limb-meal! +I will go there and do’t, i’ th’ court, before +Her father. I’ll do something— + + [_Exit._] + +PHILARIO. +Quite besides +The government of patience! You have won. +Let’s follow him and pervert the present wrath +He hath against himself. + +IACHIMO. +With all my heart. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE V. Rome. Another room in Philario’s house. + + Enter Posthumus. + +POSTHUMUS. +Is there no way for men to be, but women +Must be half-workers? We are all bastards, +And that most venerable man which I +Did call my father was I know not where +When I was stamp’d. Some coiner with his tools +Made me a counterfeit; yet my mother seem’d +The Dian of that time. So doth my wife +The nonpareil of this. O, vengeance, vengeance! +Me of my lawful pleasure she restrain’d, +And pray’d me oft forbearance; did it with +A pudency so rosy, the sweet view on’t +Might well have warm’d old Saturn; that I thought her +As chaste as unsunn’d snow. O, all the devils! +This yellow Iachimo in an hour, was’t not? +Or less; at first? Perchance he spoke not, but, +Like a full-acorn’d boar, a German one, +Cried “O!” and mounted; found no opposition +But what he look’d for should oppose and she +Should from encounter guard. Could I find out +The woman’s part in me! For there’s no motion +That tends to vice in man but I affirm +It is the woman’s part. Be it lying, note it, +The woman’s; flattering, hers; deceiving, hers; +Lust and rank thoughts, hers, hers; revenges, hers; +Ambitions, covetings, change of prides, disdain, +Nice longing, slanders, mutability, +All faults that man may name, nay, that hell knows, +Why, hers, in part or all; but rather all; +For even to vice +They are not constant, but are changing still +One vice but of a minute old for one +Not half so old as that. I’ll write against them, +Detest them, curse them. Yet ’tis greater skill +In a true hate to pray they have their will: +The very devils cannot plague them better. + + [_Exit._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. Britain. A hall in Cymbeline’s palace. + + + Enter in state Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten and Lords at one door, and at + another Caius Lucius and Attendants. + +CYMBELINE. +Now say, what would Augustus Cæsar with us? + +LUCIUS. +When Julius Cæsar, (whose remembrance yet +Lives in men’s eyes, and will to ears and tongues +Be theme and hearing ever) was in this Britain, +And conquer’d it, Cassibelan, thine uncle, +Famous in Cæsar’s praises no whit less +Than in his feats deserving it, for him +And his succession granted Rome a tribute, +Yearly three thousand pounds, which by thee lately +Is left untender’d. + +QUEEN. +And, to kill the marvel, +Shall be so ever. + +CLOTEN. +There be many Cæsars ere such another Julius. Britain is a world by +itself, and we will nothing pay for wearing our own noses. + +QUEEN. +That opportunity, +Which then they had to take from’s, to resume +We have again. Remember, sir, my liege, +The kings your ancestors, together with +The natural bravery of your isle, which stands +As Neptune’s park, ribb’d and pal’d in +With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters, +With sands that will not bear your enemies’ boats +But suck them up to th’ top-mast. A kind of conquest +Cæsar made here, but made not here his brag +Of ‘Came, and saw, and overcame.’ With shame +(The first that ever touch’d him) he was carried +From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping +(Poor ignorant baubles!) on our terrible seas, +Like egg-shells mov’d upon their surges, crack’d +As easily ’gainst our rocks; for joy whereof +The fam’d Cassibelan, who was once at point +(O, giglot fortune!) to master Cæsar’s sword, +Made Lud’s Town with rejoicing fires bright +And Britons strut with courage. + +CLOTEN. +Come, there’s no more tribute to be paid. Our kingdom is stronger than +it was at that time; and, as I said, there is no moe such Cæsars. Other +of them may have crook’d noses; but to owe such straight arms, none. + +CYMBELINE. +Son, let your mother end. + +CLOTEN. +We have yet many among us can gripe as hard as Cassibelan. I do not say +I am one; but I have a hand. Why tribute? Why should we pay tribute? If +Cæsar can hide the sun from us with a blanket, or put the moon in his +pocket, we will pay him tribute for light; else, sir, no more tribute, +pray you now. + +CYMBELINE. +You must know, +Till the injurious Romans did extort +This tribute from us, we were free. Cæsar’s ambition, +Which swell’d so much that it did almost stretch +The sides o’ th’ world, against all colour here +Did put the yoke upon’s; which to shake off +Becomes a warlike people, whom we reckon +Ourselves to be. + +CLOTEN. +We do. + +CYMBELINE. +Say then to Cæsar, +Our ancestor was that Mulmutius which +Ordain’d our laws, whose use the sword of Cæsar +Hath too much mangled; whose repair and franchise +Shall, by the power we hold, be our good deed, +Though Rome be therefore angry. Mulmutius made our laws, +Who was the first of Britain which did put +His brows within a golden crown, and call’d +Himself a king. + +LUCIUS. +I am sorry, Cymbeline, +That I am to pronounce Augustus Cæsar +(Cæsar, that hath moe kings his servants than +Thyself domestic officers) thine enemy. +Receive it from me, then: war and confusion +In Cæsar’s name pronounce I ’gainst thee; look +For fury not to be resisted. Thus defied, +I thank thee for myself. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou art welcome, Caius. +Thy Cæsar knighted me; my youth I spent +Much under him; of him I gather’d honour, +Which he to seek of me again, perforce, +Behoves me keep at utterance. I am perfect +That the Pannonians and Dalmatians for +Their liberties are now in arms, a precedent +Which not to read would show the Britons cold; +So Cæsar shall not find them. + +LUCIUS. +Let proof speak. + +CLOTEN. +His majesty bids you welcome. Make pastime with us a day or two, or +longer. If you seek us afterwards in other terms, you shall find us in +our salt-water girdle. If you beat us out of it, it is yours; if you +fall in the adventure, our crows shall fare the better for you; and +there’s an end. + +LUCIUS. +So, sir. + +CYMBELINE. +I know your master’s pleasure, and he mine; +All the remain is, welcome. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. Britain. Another room in Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Pisanio reading of a letter. + +PISANIO. +How? of adultery? Wherefore write you not +What monsters her accuse? Leonatus! +O master, what a strange infection +Is fall’n into thy ear! What false Italian +(As poisonous-tongu’d as handed) hath prevail’d +On thy too ready hearing? Disloyal? No. +She’s punish’d for her truth, and undergoes, +More goddess-like than wife-like, such assaults +As would take in some virtue. O my master, +Thy mind to her is now as low as were +Thy fortunes. How? that I should murder her? +Upon the love, and truth, and vows, which I +Have made to thy command? I, her? Her blood? +If it be so to do good service, never +Let me be counted serviceable. How look I +That I should seem to lack humanity +So much as this fact comes to? + + [_Reads._] + +‘Do’t. The letter +That I have sent her, by her own command +Shall give thee opportunity.’ O damn’d paper, +Black as the ink that’s on thee! Senseless bauble, +Art thou a fedary for this act, and look’st +So virgin-like without? Lo, here she comes. + + Enter Imogen. + +I am ignorant in what I am commanded. + +IMOGEN. +How now, Pisanio? + +PISANIO. +Madam, here is a letter from my lord. + +IMOGEN. +Who? thy lord? That is my lord, Leonatus? +O, learn’d indeed were that astronomer +That knew the stars as I his characters; +He’d lay the future open. You good gods, +Let what is here contain’d relish of love, +Of my lord’s health, of his content; yet not +That we two are asunder; let that grieve him! +Some griefs are med’cinable; that is one of them, +For it doth physic love: of his content, +All but in that. Good wax, thy leave. Blest be +You bees that make these locks of counsel! Lovers +And men in dangerous bonds pray not alike; +Though forfeiters you cast in prison, yet +You clasp young Cupid’s tables. Good news, gods! + + [_Reads._] + +_Justice and your father’s wrath, should he take me in his dominion, +could not be so cruel to me as you, O the dearest of creatures, would +even renew me with your eyes. Take notice that I am in Cambria, at +Milford Haven. What your own love will out of this advise you, follow. +So he wishes you all happiness that remains loyal to his vow, and your +increasing in love. + LEONATUS POSTHUMUS._ + +O for a horse with wings! Hear’st thou, Pisanio? +He is at Milford Haven. Read, and tell me +How far ’tis thither. If one of mean affairs +May plod it in a week, why may not I +Glide thither in a day? Then, true Pisanio, +Who long’st like me to see thy lord, who long’st +(O, let me ’bate!) but not like me, yet long’st, +But in a fainter kind. O, not like me, +For mine’s beyond beyond: say, and speak thick, +(Love’s counsellor should fill the bores of hearing +To th’ smothering of the sense) how far it is +To this same blessed Milford. And by th’ way +Tell me how Wales was made so happy as +T’ inherit such a haven. But first of all, +How we may steal from hence; and for the gap +That we shall make in time from our hence-going +And our return, to excuse. But first, how get hence. +Why should excuse be born or ere begot? +We’ll talk of that hereafter. Prithee speak, +How many score of miles may we well rid +’Twixt hour and hour? + +PISANIO. +One score ’twixt sun and sun, +Madam, ’s enough for you, and too much too. + +IMOGEN. +Why, one that rode to’s execution, man, +Could never go so slow. I have heard of riding wagers +Where horses have been nimbler than the sands +That run i’ th’ clock’s behalf. But this is fool’ry. +Go bid my woman feign a sickness; say +She’ll home to her father; and provide me presently +A riding suit, no costlier than would fit +A franklin’s huswife. + +PISANIO. +Madam, you’re best consider. + +IMOGEN. +I see before me, man. Nor here, nor here, +Nor what ensues, but have a fog in them +That I cannot look through. Away, I prithee; +Do as I bid thee. There’s no more to say. +Accessible is none but Milford way. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Wales. A mountainous country with a cave. + + Enter from the cave Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +A goodly day not to keep house with such +Whose roof’s as low as ours! Stoop, boys; this gate +Instructs you how t’ adore the heavens, and bows you +To a morning’s holy office. The gates of monarchs +Are arch’d so high that giants may jet through +And keep their impious turbans on without +Good morrow to the sun. Hail, thou fair heaven! +We house i’ th’ rock, yet use thee not so hardly +As prouder livers do. + +GUIDERIUS. +Hail, heaven! + +ARVIRAGUS. +Hail, heaven! + +BELARIUS. +Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill, +Your legs are young; I’ll tread these flats. Consider, +When you above perceive me like a crow, +That it is place which lessens and sets off; +And you may then revolve what tales I have told you +Of courts, of princes, of the tricks in war. +This service is not service so being done, +But being so allow’d. To apprehend thus +Draws us a profit from all things we see, +And often to our comfort shall we find +The sharded beetle in a safer hold +Than is the full-wing’d eagle. O, this life +Is nobler than attending for a check, +Richer than doing nothing for a robe, +Prouder than rustling in unpaid-for silk: +Such gain the cap of him that makes him fine, +Yet keeps his book uncross’d. No life to ours! + +GUIDERIUS. +Out of your proof you speak. We, poor unfledg’d, +Have never wing’d from view o’ th’ nest, nor know not +What air’s from home. Haply this life is best, +If quiet life be best; sweeter to you +That have a sharper known; well corresponding +With your stiff age. But unto us it is +A cell of ignorance, travelling abed, +A prison for a debtor that not dares +To stride a limit. + +ARVIRAGUS. +What should we speak of +When we are old as you? When we shall hear +The rain and wind beat dark December, how, +In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse. +The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing; +We are beastly: subtle as the fox for prey, +Like warlike as the wolf for what we eat. +Our valour is to chase what flies; our cage +We make a choir, as doth the prison’d bird, +And sing our bondage freely. + +BELARIUS. +How you speak! +Did you but know the city’s usuries, +And felt them knowingly; the art o’ th’ court, +As hard to leave as keep, whose top to climb +Is certain falling, or so slipp’ry that +The fear’s as bad as falling; the toil o’ th’ war, +A pain that only seems to seek out danger +I’ th’ name of fame and honour, which dies i’ th’ search, +And hath as oft a sland’rous epitaph +As record of fair act; nay, many times, +Doth ill deserve by doing well; what’s worse, +Must curtsy at the censure. O, boys, this story +The world may read in me; my body’s mark’d +With Roman swords, and my report was once +First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov’d me; +And when a soldier was the theme, my name +Was not far off. Then was I as a tree +Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But in one night +A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, +Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, +And left me bare to weather. + +GUIDERIUS. +Uncertain favour! + +BELARIUS. +My fault being nothing, as I have told you oft, +But that two villains, whose false oaths prevail’d +Before my perfect honour, swore to Cymbeline +I was confederate with the Romans. So +Follow’d my banishment, and this twenty years +This rock and these demesnes have been my world, +Where I have liv’d at honest freedom, paid +More pious debts to heaven than in all +The fore-end of my time. But up to th’ mountains! +This is not hunters’ language. He that strikes +The venison first shall be the lord o’ th’ feast; +To him the other two shall minister; +And we will fear no poison, which attends +In place of greater state. I’ll meet you in the valleys. + + [_Exeunt Guiderius and Arviragus._] + +How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature! +These boys know little they are sons to th’ King, +Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. +They think they are mine; and though train’d up thus meanly +I’ th’ cave wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit +The roofs of palaces, and nature prompts them +In simple and low things to prince it much +Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore, +The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, who +The King his father call’d Guiderius—Jove! +When on my three-foot stool I sit and tell +The warlike feats I have done, his spirits fly out +Into my story; say ‘Thus mine enemy fell, +And thus I set my foot on’s neck’; even then +The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats, +Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture +That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, +Once Arviragus, in as like a figure +Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more +His own conceiving. Hark, the game is rous’d! +O Cymbeline, heaven and my conscience knows +Thou didst unjustly banish me! Whereon, +At three and two years old, I stole these babes, +Thinking to bar thee of succession as +Thou refts me of my lands. Euriphile, +Thou wast their nurse; they took thee for their mother, +And every day do honour to her grave. +Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan call’d, +They take for natural father. The game is up. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Wales, near Milford Haven. + + Enter Pisanio and Imogen. + +IMOGEN. +Thou told’st me, when we came from horse, the place +Was near at hand. Ne’er long’d my mother so +To see me first as I have now. Pisanio! Man! +Where is Posthumus? What is in thy mind +That makes thee stare thus? Wherefore breaks that sigh +From th’ inward of thee? One but painted thus +Would be interpreted a thing perplex’d +Beyond self-explication. Put thyself +Into a haviour of less fear, ere wildness +Vanquish my staider senses. What’s the matter? +Why tender’st thou that paper to me with +A look untender? If’t be summer news, +Smile to’t before; if winterly, thou need’st +But keep that count’nance still. My husband’s hand? +That drug-damn’d Italy hath out-craftied him, +And he’s at some hard point. Speak, man; thy tongue +May take off some extremity, which to read +Would be even mortal to me. + +PISANIO. +Please you read, +And you shall find me, wretched man, a thing +The most disdain’d of fortune. + +IMOGEN. +[_Reads._] _Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath play’d the strumpet in my bed, +the testimonies whereof lie bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak +surmises, but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain as I +expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio, must act for me, if thy +faith be not tainted with the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take +away her life; I shall give thee opportunity at Milford Haven; she hath +my letter for the purpose; where, if thou fear to strike, and to make +me certain it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour, and +equally to me disloyal._ + +PISANIO. +What shall I need to draw my sword? The paper +Hath cut her throat already. No, ’tis slander, +Whose edge is sharper than the sword, whose tongue +Outvenoms all the worms of Nile, whose breath +Rides on the posting winds and doth belie +All corners of the world. Kings, queens, and states, +Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave, +This viperous slander enters. What cheer, madam? + +IMOGEN. +False to his bed? What is it to be false? +To lie in watch there, and to think on him? +To weep twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge nature, +To break it with a fearful dream of him, +And cry myself awake? That’s false to’s bed, +Is it? + +PISANIO. +Alas, good lady! + +IMOGEN. +I false! Thy conscience witness! Iachimo, +Thou didst accuse him of incontinency; +Thou then look’dst like a villain; now, methinks, +Thy favour’s good enough. Some jay of Italy, +Whose mother was her painting, hath betray’d him. +Poor I am stale, a garment out of fashion, +And for I am richer than to hang by th’ walls +I must be ripp’d. To pieces with me! O, +Men’s vows are women’s traitors! All good seeming, +By thy revolt, O husband, shall be thought +Put on for villainy; not born where’t grows, +But worn a bait for ladies. + +PISANIO. +Good madam, hear me. + +IMOGEN. +True honest men being heard, like false Æneas, +Were, in his time, thought false; and Sinon’s weeping +Did scandal many a holy tear, took pity +From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus, +Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men: +Goodly and gallant shall be false and perjur’d +From thy great fail. Come, fellow, be thou honest; +Do thou thy master’s bidding; when thou seest him, +A little witness my obedience. Look! +I draw the sword myself; take it, and hit +The innocent mansion of my love, my heart. +Fear not; ’tis empty of all things but grief; +Thy master is not there, who was indeed +The riches of it. Do his bidding; strike. +Thou mayst be valiant in a better cause, +But now thou seem’st a coward. + +PISANIO. +Hence, vile instrument! +Thou shalt not damn my hand. + +IMOGEN. +Why, I must die; +And if I do not by thy hand, thou art +No servant of thy master’s. Against self-slaughter +There is a prohibition so divine +That cravens my weak hand. Come, here’s my heart: +Something’s afore’t. Soft, soft! we’ll no defence, +Obedient as the scabbard. What is here? +The scriptures of the loyal Leonatus +All turn’d to heresy? Away, away, +Corrupters of my faith, you shall no more +Be stomachers to my heart. Thus may poor fools +Believe false teachers; though those that are betray’d +Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor +Stands in worse case of woe. And thou, Posthumus, +That didst set up my disobedience ’gainst the King +My father, and make me put into contempt the suits +Of princely fellows, shalt hereafter find +It is no act of common passage but +A strain of rareness; and I grieve myself +To think, when thou shalt be disedg’d by her +That now thou tirest on, how thy memory +Will then be pang’d by me. Prithee dispatch. +The lamb entreats the butcher. Where’s thy knife? +Thou art too slow to do thy master’s bidding, +When I desire it too. + +PISANIO. +O gracious lady, +Since I receiv’d command to do this busines +I have not slept one wink. + +IMOGEN. +Do’t, and to bed then. + +PISANIO. +I’ll wake mine eyeballs first. + +IMOGEN. +Wherefore then +Didst undertake it? Why hast thou abus’d +So many miles with a pretence? This place? +Mine action and thine own? our horses’ labour? +The time inviting thee? The perturb’d court, +For my being absent? whereunto I never +Purpose return. Why hast thou gone so far +To be unbent when thou hast ta’en thy stand, +Th’ elected deer before thee? + +PISANIO. +But to win time +To lose so bad employment, in the which +I have consider’d of a course. Good lady, +Hear me with patience. + +IMOGEN. +Talk thy tongue weary, speak. +I have heard I am a strumpet, and mine ear, +Therein false struck, can take no greater wound, +Nor tent to bottom that. But speak. + +PISANIO. +Then, madam, +I thought you would not back again. + +IMOGEN. +Most like, +Bringing me here to kill me. + +PISANIO. +Not so, neither; +But if I were as wise as honest, then +My purpose would prove well. It cannot be +But that my master is abus’d. Some villain, +Ay, and singular in his art, hath done you both +This cursed injury. + +IMOGEN. +Some Roman courtezan! + +PISANIO. +No, on my life! +I’ll give but notice you are dead, and send him +Some bloody sign of it, for ’tis commanded +I should do so. You shall be miss’d at court, +And that will well confirm it. + +IMOGEN. +Why, good fellow, +What shall I do the while? Where bide? How live? +Or in my life what comfort, when I am +Dead to my husband? + +PISANIO. +If you’ll back to th’ court— + +IMOGEN. +No court, no father, nor no more ado +With that harsh, noble, simple nothing, +That Cloten, whose love-suit hath been to me +As fearful as a siege. + +PISANIO. +If not at court, +Then not in Britain must you bide. + +IMOGEN. +Where then? +Hath Britain all the sun that shines? Day, night, +Are they not but in Britain? I’ th’ world’s volume +Our Britain seems as of it, but not in’t; +In a great pool a swan’s nest. Prithee think +There’s livers out of Britain. + +PISANIO. +I am most glad +You think of other place. Th’ ambassador, +Lucius the Roman, comes to Milford Haven +Tomorrow. Now, if you could wear a mind +Dark as your fortune is, and but disguise +That which t’ appear itself must not yet be +But by self-danger, you should tread a course +Pretty and full of view; yea, happily, near +The residence of Posthumus; so nigh, at least, +That though his actions were not visible, yet +Report should render him hourly to your ear +As truly as he moves. + +IMOGEN. +O! for such means, +Though peril to my modesty, not death on’t, +I would adventure. + +PISANIO. +Well then, here’s the point: +You must forget to be a woman; change +Command into obedience; fear and niceness +(The handmaids of all women, or, more truly, +Woman it pretty self) into a waggish courage; +Ready in gibes, quick-answer’d, saucy, and +As quarrelous as the weasel. Nay, you must +Forget that rarest treasure of your cheek, +Exposing it (but, O, the harder heart! +Alack, no remedy) to the greedy touch +Of common-kissing Titan, and forget +Your laboursome and dainty trims wherein +You made great Juno angry. + +IMOGEN. +Nay, be brief; +I see into thy end, and am almost +A man already. + +PISANIO. +First, make yourself but like one. +Fore-thinking this, I have already fit +(’Tis in my cloak-bag) doublet, hat, hose, all +That answer to them. Would you, in their serving, +And with what imitation you can borrow +From youth of such a season, ’fore noble Lucius +Present yourself, desire his service, tell him +Wherein you’re happy; which will make him know +If that his head have ear in music; doubtless +With joy he will embrace you; for he’s honourable, +And, doubling that, most holy. Your means abroad: +You have me, rich; and I will never fail +Beginning nor supplyment. + +IMOGEN. +Thou art all the comfort +The gods will diet me with. Prithee away! +There’s more to be consider’d; but we’ll even +All that good time will give us. This attempt +I am soldier to, and will abide it with +A prince’s courage. Away, I prithee. + +PISANIO. +Well, madam, we must take a short farewell, +Lest, being miss’d, I be suspected of +Your carriage from the court. My noble mistress, +Here is a box; I had it from the Queen. +What’s in’t is precious. If you are sick at sea +Or stomach-qualm’d at land, a dram of this +Will drive away distemper. To some shade, +And fit you to your manhood. May the gods +Direct you to the best! + +IMOGEN. +Amen. I thank thee. + + [_Exeunt severally._] + +SCENE V. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Cymbeline, Queen, Cloten, Lucius and Lords. + +CYMBELINE. +Thus far, and so farewell. + +LUCIUS. +Thanks, royal sir. +My emperor hath wrote; I must from hence, +And am right sorry that I must report ye +My master’s enemy. + +CYMBELINE. +Our subjects, sir, +Will not endure his yoke; and for ourself +To show less sovereignty than they, must needs +Appear unkinglike. + +LUCIUS. +So, sir. I desire of you +A conduct overland to Milford Haven. +Madam, all joy befall your Grace, and you! + +CYMBELINE. +My lords, you are appointed for that office; +The due of honour in no point omit. +So farewell, noble Lucius. + +LUCIUS. +Your hand, my lord. + +CLOTEN. +Receive it friendly; but from this time forth +I wear it as your enemy. + +LUCIUS. +Sir, the event +Is yet to name the winner. Fare you well. + +CYMBELINE. +Leave not the worthy Lucius, good my lords, +Till he have cross’d the Severn. Happiness! + + [_Exeunt Lucius and Lords._] + +QUEEN. +He goes hence frowning; but it honours us +That we have given him cause. + +CLOTEN. +’Tis all the better; +Your valiant Britons have their wishes in it. + +CYMBELINE. +Lucius hath wrote already to the Emperor +How it goes here. It fits us therefore ripely +Our chariots and our horsemen be in readiness. +The pow’rs that he already hath in Gallia +Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves +His war for Britain. + +QUEEN. +’Tis not sleepy business, +But must be look’d to speedily and strongly. + +CYMBELINE. +Our expectation that it would be thus +Hath made us forward. But, my gentle queen, +Where is our daughter? She hath not appear’d +Before the Roman, nor to us hath tender’d +The duty of the day. She looks us like +A thing more made of malice than of duty; +We have noted it. Call her before us, for +We have been too slight in sufferance. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +QUEEN. +Royal sir, +Since the exile of Posthumus, most retir’d +Hath her life been; the cure whereof, my lord, +’Tis time must do. Beseech your Majesty, +Forbear sharp speeches to her; she’s a lady +So tender of rebukes that words are strokes, +And strokes death to her. + + Enter Attendant. + +CYMBELINE. +Where is she, sir? How +Can her contempt be answer’d? + +ATTENDANT. +Please you, sir, +Her chambers are all lock’d, and there’s no answer +That will be given to th’ loud of noise we make. + +QUEEN. +My lord, when last I went to visit her, +She pray’d me to excuse her keeping close; +Whereto constrain’d by her infirmity +She should that duty leave unpaid to you +Which daily she was bound to proffer. This +She wish’d me to make known; but our great court +Made me to blame in memory. + +CYMBELINE. +Her doors lock’d? +Not seen of late? Grant, heavens, that which I fear +Prove false! + + [_Exit._] + +QUEEN. +Son, I say, follow the King. + +CLOTEN. +That man of hers, Pisanio, her old servant, +I have not seen these two days. + +QUEEN. +Go, look after. + + [_Exit Cloten._] + +Pisanio, thou that stand’st so for Posthumus! +He hath a drug of mine. I pray his absence +Proceed by swallowing that; for he believes +It is a thing most precious. But for her, +Where is she gone? Haply despair hath seiz’d her; +Or, wing’d with fervour of her love, she’s flown +To her desir’d Posthumus. Gone she is +To death or to dishonour, and my end +Can make good use of either. She being down, +I have the placing of the British crown. + + Enter Cloten. + +How now, my son? + +CLOTEN. +’Tis certain she is fled. +Go in and cheer the King. He rages; none +Dare come about him. + +QUEEN. +All the better. May +This night forestall him of the coming day! + + [_Exit._] + +CLOTEN. +I love and hate her; for she’s fair and royal, +And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite +Than lady, ladies, woman. From every one +The best she hath, and she, of all compounded, +Outsells them all. I love her therefore; but +Disdaining me and throwing favours on +The low Posthumus slanders so her judgement +That what’s else rare is chok’d; and in that point +I will conclude to hate her, nay, indeed, +To be reveng’d upon her. For when fools +Shall— + + Enter Pisanio. + +Who is here? What, are you packing, sirrah? +Come hither. Ah, you precious pandar! Villain, +Where is thy lady? In a word, or else +Thou art straightway with the fiends. + +PISANIO. +O good my lord! + +CLOTEN. +Where is thy lady? or, by Jupiter— +I will not ask again. Close villain, +I’ll have this secret from thy heart, or rip +Thy heart to find it. Is she with Posthumus? +From whose so many weights of baseness cannot +A dram of worth be drawn. + +PISANIO. +Alas, my lord, +How can she be with him? When was she miss’d? +He is in Rome. + +CLOTEN. +Where is she, sir? Come nearer. +No farther halting! Satisfy me home +What is become of her. + +PISANIO. +O my all-worthy lord! + +CLOTEN. +All-worthy villain! +Discover where thy mistress is at once, +At the next word. No more of ‘worthy lord’! +Speak, or thy silence on the instant is +Thy condemnation and thy death. + +PISANIO. +Then, sir, +This paper is the history of my knowledge +Touching her flight. + + [_Presenting a letter._] + +CLOTEN. +Let’s see’t. I will pursue her +Even to Augustus’ throne. + +PISANIO. +[_Aside._] Or this or perish. +She’s far enough; and what he learns by this +May prove his travel, not her danger. + +CLOTEN. +Humh! + +PISANIO. +[_Aside._] I’ll write to my lord she’s dead. O Imogen, +Safe mayst thou wander, safe return again! + +CLOTEN. +Sirrah, is this letter true? + +PISANIO. +Sir, as I think. + +CLOTEN. +It is Posthumus’ hand; I know’t. Sirrah, if thou wouldst not be a +villain, but do me true service, undergo those employments wherein I +should have cause to use thee with a serious industry—that is, what +villainy soe’er I bid thee do, to perform it directly and truly—I would +think thee an honest man; thou shouldst neither want my means for thy +relief nor my voice for thy preferment. + +PISANIO. +Well, my good lord. + +CLOTEN. +Wilt thou serve me? For since patiently and constantly thou hast stuck +to the bare fortune of that beggar Posthumus, thou canst not, in the +course of gratitude, but be a diligent follower of mine. Wilt thou +serve me? + +PISANIO. +Sir, I will. + +CLOTEN. +Give me thy hand; here’s my purse. Hast any of thy late master’s +garments in thy possession? + +PISANIO. +I have, my lord, at my lodging, the same suit he wore when he took +leave of my lady and mistress. + +CLOTEN. +The first service thou dost me, fetch that suit hither. Let it be thy +first service; go. + +PISANIO. +I shall, my lord. + + [_Exit._] + +CLOTEN. +Meet thee at Milford Haven! I forgot to ask him one thing; I’ll +remember’t anon. Even there, thou villain Posthumus, will I kill thee. +I would these garments were come. She said upon a time—the bitterness +of it I now belch from my heart—that she held the very garment of +Posthumus in more respect than my noble and natural person, together +with the adornment of my qualities. With that suit upon my back will I +ravish her; first kill him, and in her eyes. There shall she see my +valour, which will then be a torment to her contempt. He on the ground, +my speech of insultment ended on his dead body, and when my lust hath +dined—which, as I say, to vex her I will execute in the clothes that +she so prais’d—to the court I’ll knock her back, foot her home again. +She hath despis’d me rejoicingly, and I’ll be merry in my revenge. + + Enter Pisanio with the clothes. + +Be those the garments? + +PISANIO. +Ay, my noble lord. + +CLOTEN. +How long is’t since she went to Milford Haven? + +PISANIO. +She can scarce be there yet. + +CLOTEN. +Bring this apparel to my chamber; that is the second thing that I have +commanded thee. The third is that thou wilt be a voluntary mute to my +design. Be but duteous and true, preferment shall tender itself to +thee. My revenge is now at Milford, would I had wings to follow it! +Come, and be true. + + [_Exit._] + +PISANIO. +Thou bid’st me to my loss; for true to thee +Were to prove false, which I will never be, +To him that is most true. To Milford go, +And find not her whom thou pursuest. Flow, flow, +You heavenly blessings, on her! This fool’s speed +Be cross’d with slowness! Labour be his meed! + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE VI. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + + Enter Imogen alone, in boy’s clothes. + +IMOGEN. +I see a man’s life is a tedious one. +I have tir’d myself, and for two nights together +Have made the ground my bed. I should be sick +But that my resolution helps me. Milford, +When from the mountain-top Pisanio show’d thee, +Thou wast within a ken. O Jove! I think +Foundations fly the wretched; such, I mean, +Where they should be reliev’d. Two beggars told me +I could not miss my way. Will poor folks lie, +That have afflictions on them, knowing ’tis +A punishment or trial? Yes; no wonder, +When rich ones scarce tell true. To lapse in fulness +Is sorer than to lie for need; and falsehood +Is worse in kings than beggars. My dear lord! +Thou art one o’ th’ false ones. Now I think on thee +My hunger’s gone; but even before, I was +At point to sink for food. But what is this? +Here is a path to’t; ’tis some savage hold. +I were best not call; I dare not call. Yet famine, +Ere clean it o’erthrow nature, makes it valiant. +Plenty and peace breeds cowards; hardness ever +Of hardiness is mother. Ho! who’s here? +If anything that’s civil, speak; if savage, +Take or lend. Ho! No answer? Then I’ll enter. +Best draw my sword; and if mine enemy +But fear the sword, like me, he’ll scarcely look on’t. +Such a foe, good heavens! + + [_Exit into the cave._] + +SCENE VII. The same. + + Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +You, Polydore, have prov’d best woodman and +Are master of the feast. Cadwal and I +Will play the cook and servant; ’tis our match. +The sweat of industry would dry and die +But for the end it works to. Come, our stomachs +Will make what’s homely savoury; weariness +Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth +Finds the down pillow hard. Now, peace be here, +Poor house, that keep’st thyself! + +GUIDERIUS. +I am thoroughly weary. + +ARVIRAGUS. +I am weak with toil, yet strong in appetite. + +GUIDERIUS. +There is cold meat i’ th’ cave; we’ll browse on that +Whilst what we have kill’d be cook’d. + +BELARIUS. +[_Looking into the cave._] Stay, come not in. +But that it eats our victuals, I should think +Here were a fairy. + +GUIDERIUS. +What’s the matter, sir? + +BELARIUS. +By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not, +An earthly paragon! Behold divineness +No elder than a boy! + + Enter Imogen. + +IMOGEN. +Good masters, harm me not. +Before I enter’d here I call’d, and thought +To have begg’d or bought what I have took. Good troth, +I have stol’n nought; nor would not though I had found +Gold strew’d i’ th’ floor. Here’s money for my meat. +I would have left it on the board, so soon +As I had made my meal, and parted +With pray’rs for the provider. + +GUIDERIUS. +Money, youth? + +ARVIRAGUS. +All gold and silver rather turn to dirt, +As ’tis no better reckon’d but of those +Who worship dirty gods. + +IMOGEN. +I see you’re angry. +Know, if you kill me for my fault, I should +Have died had I not made it. + +BELARIUS. +Whither bound? + +IMOGEN. +To Milford Haven. + +BELARIUS. +What’s your name? + +IMOGEN. +Fidele, sir. I have a kinsman who +Is bound for Italy; he embark’d at Milford; +To whom being going, almost spent with hunger, +I am fall’n in this offence. + +BELARIUS. +Prithee, fair youth, +Think us no churls, nor measure our good minds +By this rude place we live in. Well encounter’d! +’Tis almost night; you shall have better cheer +Ere you depart, and thanks to stay and eat it. +Boys, bid him welcome. + +GUIDERIUS. +Were you a woman, youth, +I should woo hard but be your groom. In honesty +I bid for you as I’d buy. + +ARVIRAGUS. +I’ll make’t my comfort +He is a man. I’ll love him as my brother; +And such a welcome as I’d give to him +After long absence, such is yours. Most welcome! +Be sprightly, for you fall ’mongst friends. + +IMOGEN. +’Mongst friends, +If brothers. [_Aside._] Would it had been so that they +Had been my father’s sons! Then had my prize +Been less, and so more equal ballasting +To thee, Posthumus. + +BELARIUS. +He wrings at some distress. + +GUIDERIUS. +Would I could free’t! + +ARVIRAGUS. +Or I, whate’er it be, +What pain it cost, what danger! Gods! + +BELARIUS. +[_Whispering._] Hark, boys. + +IMOGEN. +[_Aside._] Great men, +That had a court no bigger than this cave, +That did attend themselves, and had the virtue +Which their own conscience seal’d them, laying by +That nothing-gift of differing multitudes, +Could not out-peer these twain. Pardon me, gods! +I’d change my sex to be companion with them, +Since Leonatus false. + +BELARIUS. +It shall be so. +Boys, we’ll go dress our hunt. Fair youth, come in. +Discourse is heavy, fasting; when we have supp’d, +We’ll mannerly demand thee of thy story, +So far as thou wilt speak it. + +GUIDERIUS. +Pray draw near. + +ARVIRAGUS. +The night to th’ owl and morn to th’ lark less +welcome. + +IMOGEN. +Thanks, sir. + +ARVIRAGUS. +I pray draw near. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE VIII. Rome. A public place. + + Enter two Roman Senators and Tribunes. + +FIRST SENATOR. +This is the tenour of the Emperor’s writ: +That since the common men are now in action +’Gainst the Pannonians and Dalmatians, +And that the legions now in Gallia are +Full weak to undertake our wars against +The fall’n-off Britons, that we do incite +The gentry to this business. He creates +Lucius proconsul; and to you, the tribunes, +For this immediate levy, he commands +His absolute commission. Long live Cæsar! + +TRIBUNE. +Is Lucius general of the forces? + +SECOND SENATOR. +Ay. + +TRIBUNE. +Remaining now in Gallia? + +FIRST SENATOR. +With those legions +Which I have spoke of, whereunto your levy +Must be supplyant. The words of your commission +Will tie you to the numbers and the time +Of their dispatch. + +TRIBUNE. +We will discharge our duty. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. Wales. Near the cave of Belarius. + + + Enter Cloten alone. + +CLOTEN. +I am near to th’ place where they should meet, if Pisanio have mapp’d +it truly. How fit his garments serve me! Why should his mistress, who +was made by him that made the tailor, not be fit too? The rather, +saving reverence of the word, for ’tis said a woman’s fitness comes by +fits. Therein I must play the workman. I dare speak it to myself, for +it is not vain-glory for a man and his glass to confer in his own +chamber; I mean, the lines of my body are as well drawn as his; no less +young, more strong, not beneath him in fortunes, beyond him in the +advantage of the time, above him in birth, alike conversant in general +services, and more remarkable in single oppositions. Yet this +imperceiverant thing loves him in my despite. What mortality is! +Posthumus, thy head, which now is growing upon thy shoulders, shall +within this hour be off; thy mistress enforced; thy garments cut to +pieces before her face; and all this done, spurn her home to her +father, who may, haply, be a little angry for my so rough usage; but my +mother, having power of his testiness, shall turn all into my +commendations. My horse is tied up safe. Out, sword, and to a sore +purpose! Fortune, put them into my hand. This is the very description +of their meeting-place; and the fellow dares not deceive me. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + + Enter from the cave, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus and Imogen. + +BELARIUS. +[_To Imogen._] You are not well. Remain here in the cave; +We’ll come to you after hunting. + +ARVIRAGUS. +[_To Imogen._] Brother, stay here. +Are we not brothers? + +IMOGEN. +So man and man should be; +But clay and clay differs in dignity, +Whose dust is both alike. I am very sick. + +GUIDERIUS. +Go you to hunting; I’ll abide with him. + +IMOGEN. +So sick I am not, yet I am not well; +But not so citizen a wanton as +To seem to die ere sick. So please you, leave me; +Stick to your journal course. The breach of custom +Is breach of all. I am ill, but your being by me +Cannot amend me; society is no comfort +To one not sociable. I am not very sick, +Since I can reason of it. Pray you trust me here. +I’ll rob none but myself; and let me die, +Stealing so poorly. + +GUIDERIUS. +I love thee; I have spoke it. +How much the quantity, the weight as much +As I do love my father. + +BELARIUS. +What? how? how? + +ARVIRAGUS. +If it be sin to say so, sir, I yoke me +In my good brother’s fault. I know not why +I love this youth, and I have heard you say +Love’s reason’s without reason. The bier at door, +And a demand who is’t shall die, I’d say +‘My father, not this youth.’ + +BELARIUS. +[_Aside._] O noble strain! +O worthiness of nature! breed of greatness! +Cowards father cowards and base things sire base. +Nature hath meal and bran, contempt and grace. +I’m not their father; yet who this should be +Doth miracle itself, lov’d before me.— +’Tis the ninth hour o’ th’ morn. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Brother, farewell. + +IMOGEN. +I wish ye sport. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Your health. [_To Belarius._] So please you, sir. + +IMOGEN. +[_Aside._] These are kind creatures. Gods, what lies I +have heard! +Our courtiers say all’s savage but at court. +Experience, O, thou disprov’st report! +Th’ imperious seas breed monsters; for the dish, +Poor tributary rivers as sweet fish. +I am sick still; heart-sick. Pisanio, +I’ll now taste of thy drug. + + [_Swallows some._] + +GUIDERIUS. +I could not stir him. +He said he was gentle, but unfortunate; +Dishonestly afflicted, but yet honest. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Thus did he answer me; yet said hereafter +I might know more. + +BELARIUS. +To th’ field, to th’ field! +We’ll leave you for this time. Go in and rest. + +ARVIRAGUS. +We’ll not be long away. + +BELARIUS. +Pray be not sick, +For you must be our huswife. + +IMOGEN. +Well, or ill, +I am bound to you. + +BELARIUS. +And shalt be ever. + + [_Exit Imogen into the cave._] + +This youth, howe’er distress’d, appears he hath had +Good ancestors. + +ARVIRAGUS. +How angel-like he sings! + +GUIDERIUS. +But his neat cookery! He cut our roots in characters, +And sauc’d our broths as Juno had been sick, +And he her dieter. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Nobly he yokes +A smiling with a sigh, as if the sigh +Was that it was for not being such a smile; +The smile mocking the sigh that it would fly +From so divine a temple to commix +With winds that sailors rail at. + +GUIDERIUS. +I do note +That grief and patience, rooted in him both, +Mingle their spurs together. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Grow patience! +And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine +His perishing root with the increasing vine! + +BELARIUS. +It is great morning. Come, away! Who’s there? + + Enter Cloten. + +CLOTEN. +I cannot find those runagates; that villain +Hath mock’d me. I am faint. + +BELARIUS. +Those runagates? +Means he not us? I partly know him; ’tis +Cloten, the son o’ th’ Queen. I fear some ambush. +I saw him not these many years, and yet +I know ’tis he. We are held as outlaws. Hence! + +GUIDERIUS. +He is but one; you and my brother search +What companies are near. Pray you away; +Let me alone with him. + + [_Exeunt Belarius and Arviragus._] + +CLOTEN. +Soft! What are you +That fly me thus? Some villain mountaineers? +I have heard of such. What slave art thou? + +GUIDERIUS. +A thing +More slavish did I ne’er than answering +A slave without a knock. + +CLOTEN. +Thou art a robber, +A law-breaker, a villain. Yield thee, thief. + +GUIDERIUS. +To who? To thee? What art thou? Have not I +An arm as big as thine, a heart as big? +Thy words, I grant, are bigger, for I wear not +My dagger in my mouth. Say what thou art; +Why I should yield to thee. + +CLOTEN. +Thou villain base, +Know’st me not by my clothes? + +GUIDERIUS. +No, nor thy tailor, rascal, +Who is thy grandfather; he made those clothes, +Which, as it seems, make thee. + +CLOTEN. +Thou precious varlet, +My tailor made them not. + +GUIDERIUS. +Hence, then, and thank +The man that gave them thee. Thou art some fool; +I am loath to beat thee. + +CLOTEN. +Thou injurious thief, +Hear but my name, and tremble. + +GUIDERIUS. +What’s thy name? + +CLOTEN. +Cloten, thou villain. + +GUIDERIUS. +Cloten, thou double villain, be thy name, +I cannot tremble at it. Were it Toad, or Adder, Spider, +’Twould move me sooner. + +CLOTEN. +To thy further fear, +Nay, to thy mere confusion, thou shalt know +I am son to th’ Queen. + +GUIDERIUS. +I’m sorry for’t; not seeming +So worthy as thy birth. + +CLOTEN. +Art not afeard? + +GUIDERIUS. +Those that I reverence, those I fear—the wise; +At fools I laugh, not fear them. + +CLOTEN. +Die the death. +When I have slain thee with my proper hand, +I’ll follow those that even now fled hence, +And on the gates of Lud’s Town set your heads. +Yield, rustic mountaineer. + + [_Exeunt, fighting._] + + Enter Belarius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +No company’s abroad? + +ARVIRAGUS. +None in the world; you did mistake him, sure. + +BELARIUS. +I cannot tell; long is it since I saw him, +But time hath nothing blurr’d those lines of favour +Which then he wore; the snatches in his voice, +And burst of speaking, were as his. I am absolute +’Twas very Cloten. + +ARVIRAGUS. +In this place we left them. +I wish my brother make good time with him, +You say he is so fell. + +BELARIUS. +Being scarce made up, +I mean to man, he had not apprehension +Or roaring terrors; for defect of judgement +Is oft the cease of fear. + + Enter Guiderius with Cloten’s head. + +But, see, thy brother. + +GUIDERIUS. +This Cloten was a fool, an empty purse; +There was no money in’t. Not Hercules +Could have knock’d out his brains, for he had none; +Yet I not doing this, the fool had borne +My head as I do his. + +BELARIUS. +What hast thou done? + +GUIDERIUS. +I am perfect what: cut off one Cloten’s head, +Son to the Queen, after his own report; +Who call’d me traitor, mountaineer, and swore +With his own single hand he’d take us in, +Displace our heads where, thank the gods, they grow, +And set them on Lud’s Town. + +BELARIUS. +We are all undone. + +GUIDERIUS. +Why, worthy father, what have we to lose +But that he swore to take, our lives? The law +Protects not us; then why should we be tender +To let an arrogant piece of flesh threat us, +Play judge and executioner all himself, +For we do fear the law? What company +Discover you abroad? + +BELARIUS. +No single soul +Can we set eye on, but in all safe reason +He must have some attendants. Though his humour +Was nothing but mutation, ay, and that +From one bad thing to worse, not frenzy, not +Absolute madness could so far have rav’d, +To bring him here alone. Although perhaps +It may be heard at court that such as we +Cave here, hunt here, are outlaws, and in time +May make some stronger head, the which he hearing, +As it is like him, might break out and swear +He’d fetch us in; yet is’t not probable +To come alone, either he so undertaking +Or they so suffering. Then on good ground we fear, +If we do fear this body hath a tail +More perilous than the head. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Let ordinance +Come as the gods foresay it. Howsoe’er, +My brother hath done well. + +BELARIUS. +I had no mind +To hunt this day; the boy Fidele’s sickness +Did make my way long forth. + +GUIDERIUS. +With his own sword, +Which he did wave against my throat, I have ta’en +His head from him. I’ll throw’t into the creek +Behind our rock, and let it to the sea +And tell the fishes he’s the Queen’s son, Cloten. +That’s all I reck. + + [_Exit._] + +BELARIUS. +I fear ’twill be reveng’d. +Would, Polydore, thou hadst not done’t! though valour +Becomes thee well enough. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Would I had done’t, +So the revenge alone pursu’d me! Polydore, +I love thee brotherly, but envy much +Thou hast robb’d me of this deed. I would revenges, +That possible strength might meet, would seek us through, +And put us to our answer. + +BELARIUS. +Well, ’tis done. +We’ll hunt no more today, nor seek for danger +Where there’s no profit. I prithee to our rock. +You and Fidele play the cooks; I’ll stay +Till hasty Polydore return, and bring him +To dinner presently. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Poor sick Fidele! +I’ll willingly to him; to gain his colour +I’d let a parish of such Cloten’s blood, +And praise myself for charity. + + [_Exit._] + +BELARIUS. +O thou goddess, +Thou divine Nature, thou thyself thou blazon’st +In these two princely boys! They are as gentle +As zephyrs blowing below the violet, +Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, +Their royal blood enchaf’d, as the rud’st wind +That by the top doth take the mountain pine +And make him stoop to th’ vale. ’Tis wonder +That an invisible instinct should frame them +To royalty unlearn’d, honour untaught, +Civility not seen from other, valour +That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop +As if it had been sow’d. Yet still it’s strange +What Cloten’s being here to us portends, +Or what his death will bring us. + + Enter Guiderius. + +GUIDERIUS. +Where’s my brother? +I have sent Cloten’s clotpoll down the stream, +In embassy to his mother; his body’s hostage +For his return. + + [_Solemn music._] + +BELARIUS. +My ingenious instrument! +Hark, Polydore, it sounds. But what occasion +Hath Cadwal now to give it motion? Hark! + +GUIDERIUS. +Is he at home? + +BELARIUS. +He went hence even now. + +GUIDERIUS. +What does he mean? Since death of my dear’st mother +It did not speak before. All solemn things +Should answer solemn accidents. The matter? +Triumphs for nothing and lamenting toys +Is jollity for apes and grief for boys. +Is Cadwal mad? + + Enter Arviragus with Imogen as dead, bearing her in his arms. + +BELARIUS. +Look, here he comes, +And brings the dire occasion in his arms +Of what we blame him for! + +ARVIRAGUS. +The bird is dead +That we have made so much on. I had rather +Have skipp’d from sixteen years of age to sixty, +To have turn’d my leaping time into a crutch, +Than have seen this. + +GUIDERIUS. +O sweetest, fairest lily! +My brother wears thee not the one half so well +As when thou grew’st thyself. + +BELARIUS. +O melancholy! +Who ever yet could sound thy bottom? find +The ooze to show what coast thy sluggish crare +Might’st easiliest harbour in? Thou blessed thing! +Jove knows what man thou mightst have made; but I, +Thou diedst, a most rare boy, of melancholy. +How found you him? + +ARVIRAGUS. +Stark, as you see; +Thus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber, +Not as death’s dart, being laugh’d at; his right cheek +Reposing on a cushion. + +GUIDERIUS. +Where? + +ARVIRAGUS. +O’ th’ floor; +His arms thus leagu’d. I thought he slept, and put +My clouted brogues from off my feet, whose rudeness +Answer’d my steps too loud. + +GUIDERIUS. +Why, he but sleeps. +If he be gone he’ll make his grave a bed; +With female fairies will his tomb be haunted, +And worms will not come to thee. + +ARVIRAGUS. +With fairest flowers, +Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, +I’ll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack +The flower that’s like thy face, pale primrose; nor +The azur’d hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor +The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, +Out-sweet’ned not thy breath. The ruddock would, +With charitable bill (O bill, sore shaming +Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie +Without a monument!) bring thee all this; +Yea, and furr’d moss besides, when flow’rs are none, +To winter-ground thy corse— + +GUIDERIUS. +Prithee have done, +And do not play in wench-like words with that +Which is so serious. Let us bury him, +And not protract with admiration what +Is now due debt. To th’ grave. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Say, where shall’s lay him? + +GUIDERIUS. +By good Euriphile, our mother. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Be’t so; +And let us, Polydore, though now our voices +Have got the mannish crack, sing him to th’ ground, +As once to our mother; use like note and words, +Save that Euriphile must be Fidele. + +GUIDERIUS. +Cadwal, +I cannot sing. I’ll weep, and word it with thee; +For notes of sorrow out of tune are worse +Than priests and fanes that lie. + +ARVIRAGUS. +We’ll speak it, then. + +BELARIUS. +Great griefs, I see, med’cine the less, for Cloten +Is quite forgot. He was a queen’s son, boys; +And though he came our enemy, remember +He was paid for that. Though mean and mighty rotting +Together have one dust, yet reverence, +That angel of the world, doth make distinction +Of place ’tween high and low. Our foe was princely; +And though you took his life, as being our foe, +Yet bury him as a prince. + +GUIDERIUS. +Pray you fetch him hither. +Thersites’ body is as good as Ajax’, +When neither are alive. + +ARVIRAGUS. +If you’ll go fetch him, +We’ll say our song the whilst. Brother, begin. + + [_Exit Belarius._] + +GUIDERIUS. +Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to th’ East; +My father hath a reason for’t. + +ARVIRAGUS. +’Tis true. + +GUIDERIUS. +Come on, then, and remove him. + +ARVIRAGUS. +So. Begin. + +SONG + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun, + Nor the furious winter’s rages; + Thou thy worldly task hast done, + Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages. + Golden lads and girls all must, + As chimney-sweepers, come to dust._ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Fear no more the frown o’ th’ great; + Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke. + Care no more to clothe and eat; + To thee the reed is as the oak. + The sceptre, learning, physic, must + All follow this and come to dust._ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Fear no more the lightning flash._ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Nor th’ all-dreaded thunder-stone._ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Fear not slander, censure rash;_ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Thou hast finish’d joy and moan._ + +BOTH. +_ All lovers young, all lovers must + Consign to thee and come to dust._ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ No exorciser harm thee!_ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Nor no witchcraft charm thee!_ + +GUIDERIUS. +_ Ghost unlaid forbear thee!_ + +ARVIRAGUS. +_ Nothing ill come near thee!_ + +BOTH. +_ Quiet consummation have, + And renowned be thy grave!_ + + Enter Belarius with the body of Cloten. + +GUIDERIUS. +We have done our obsequies. Come, lay him down. + +BELARIUS. +Here’s a few flowers; but ’bout midnight, more. +The herbs that have on them cold dew o’ th’ night +Are strewings fit’st for graves. Upon their faces. +You were as flow’rs, now wither’d. Even so +These herblets shall which we upon you strew. +Come on, away. Apart upon our knees. +The ground that gave them first has them again. +Their pleasures here are past, so is their pain. + + [_Exeunt all but Imogen._] + +IMOGEN. +[_Awaking._] Yes, sir, to Milford Haven. Which is the way? +I thank you. By yond bush? Pray, how far thither? +’Ods pittikins! can it be six mile yet? +I have gone all night. Faith, I’ll lie down and sleep. +But, soft! no bedfellow. O gods and goddesses! + + [_Seeing the body._] + +These flow’rs are like the pleasures of the world; +This bloody man, the care on’t. I hope I dream; +For so I thought I was a cave-keeper, +And cook to honest creatures. But ’tis not so; +’Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot at nothing, +Which the brain makes of fumes. Our very eyes +Are sometimes, like our judgements, blind. Good faith, +I tremble still with fear; but if there be +Yet left in heaven as small a drop of pity +As a wren’s eye, fear’d gods, a part of it! +The dream’s here still. Even when I wake it is +Without me, as within me; not imagin’d, felt. +A headless man? The garments of Posthumus? +I know the shape of’s leg; this is his hand, +His foot Mercurial, his Martial thigh, +The brawns of Hercules; but his Jovial face— +Murder in heaven! How! ’Tis gone. Pisanio, +All curses madded Hecuba gave the Greeks, +And mine to boot, be darted on thee! Thou, +Conspir’d with that irregulous devil, Cloten, +Hath here cut off my lord. To write and read +Be henceforth treacherous! Damn’d Pisanio +Hath with his forged letters (damn’d Pisanio) +From this most bravest vessel of the world +Struck the main-top. O Posthumus! alas, +Where is thy head? Where’s that? Ay me! where’s that? +Pisanio might have kill’d thee at the heart, +And left this head on. How should this be? Pisanio? +’Tis he and Cloten; malice and lucre in them +Have laid this woe here. O, ’tis pregnant, pregnant! +The drug he gave me, which he said was precious +And cordial to me, have I not found it +Murd’rous to th’ senses? That confirms it home. +This is Pisanio’s deed, and Cloten. O! +Give colour to my pale cheek with thy blood, +That we the horrider may seem to those +Which chance to find us. O, my lord, my lord! + + [_Falls fainting on the body._] + + Enter Lucius, Captains and a Soothsayer. + +CAPTAIN. +To them the legions garrison’d in Gallia, +After your will, have cross’d the sea, attending +You here at Milford Haven; with your ships, +They are in readiness. + +LUCIUS. +But what from Rome? + +CAPTAIN. +The Senate hath stirr’d up the confiners +And gentlemen of Italy, most willing spirits, +That promise noble service; and they come +Under the conduct of bold Iachimo, +Sienna’s brother. + +LUCIUS. +When expect you them? + +CAPTAIN. +With the next benefit o’ th’ wind. + +LUCIUS. +This forwardness +Makes our hopes fair. Command our present numbers +Be muster’d; bid the captains look to’t. Now, sir, +What have you dream’d of late of this war’s purpose? + +SOOTHSAYER. +Last night the very gods show’d me a vision +(I fast and pray’d for their intelligence) thus: +I saw Jove’s bird, the Roman eagle, wing’d +From the spongy south to this part of the west, +There vanish’d in the sunbeams; which portends, +Unless my sins abuse my divination, +Success to th’ Roman host. + +LUCIUS. +Dream often so, +And never false. Soft, ho! what trunk is here +Without his top? The ruin speaks that sometime +It was a worthy building. How? a page? +Or dead or sleeping on him? But dead, rather; +For nature doth abhor to make his bed +With the defunct, or sleep upon the dead. +Let’s see the boy’s face. + +CAPTAIN. +He’s alive, my lord. + +LUCIUS. +He’ll then instruct us of this body. Young one, +Inform us of thy fortunes; for it seems +They crave to be demanded. Who is this +Thou mak’st thy bloody pillow? Or who was he +That, otherwise than noble nature did, +Hath alter’d that good picture? What’s thy interest +In this sad wreck? How came’t? Who is’t? +What art thou? + +IMOGEN. +I am nothing; or if not, +Nothing to be were better. This was my master, +A very valiant Briton and a good, +That here by mountaineers lies slain. Alas! +There is no more such masters. I may wander +From east to occident; cry out for service; +Try many, all good; serve truly; never +Find such another master. + +LUCIUS. +’Lack, good youth! +Thou mov’st no less with thy complaining than +Thy master in bleeding. Say his name, good friend. + +IMOGEN. +Richard du Champ. [_Aside._] If I do lie, and do +No harm by it, though the gods hear, I hope +They’ll pardon it.—Say you, sir? + +LUCIUS. +Thy name? + +IMOGEN. +Fidele, sir. + +LUCIUS. +Thou dost approve thyself the very same; +Thy name well fits thy faith, thy faith thy name. +Wilt take thy chance with me? I will not say +Thou shalt be so well master’d; but, be sure, +No less belov’d. The Roman Emperor’s letters, +Sent by a consul to me, should not sooner +Than thine own worth prefer thee. Go with me. + +IMOGEN. +I’ll follow, sir. But first, an’t please the gods, +I’ll hide my master from the flies, as deep +As these poor pickaxes can dig; and when +With wild wood-leaves and weeds I ha’ strew’d his grave, +And on it said a century of prayers, +Such as I can, twice o’er, I’ll weep and sigh; +And leaving so his service, follow you, +So please you entertain me. + +LUCIUS. +Ay, good youth; +And rather father thee than master thee. +My friends, +The boy hath taught us manly duties; let us +Find out the prettiest daisied plot we can, +And make him with our pikes and partisans +A grave. Come, arm him. Boy, he is preferr’d +By thee to us; and he shall be interr’d +As soldiers can. Be cheerful; wipe thine eyes. +Some falls are means the happier to arise. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Britain. Cymbeline’s palace. + + Enter Cymbeline, Lords, Pisanio and Attendants. + +CYMBELINE. +Again! and bring me word how ’tis with her. + + [_Exit an Attendant._] + +A fever with the absence of her son; +A madness, of which her life’s in danger. Heavens, +How deeply you at once do touch me! Imogen, +The great part of my comfort, gone; my queen +Upon a desperate bed, and in a time +When fearful wars point at me; her son gone, +So needful for this present. It strikes me past +The hope of comfort. But for thee, fellow, +Who needs must know of her departure and +Dost seem so ignorant, we’ll enforce it from thee +By a sharp torture. + +PISANIO. +Sir, my life is yours; +I humbly set it at your will; but for my mistress, +I nothing know where she remains, why gone, +Nor when she purposes return. Beseech your Highness, +Hold me your loyal servant. + +LORD. +Good my liege, +The day that she was missing he was here. +I dare be bound he’s true and shall perform +All parts of his subjection loyally. For Cloten, +There wants no diligence in seeking him, +And will no doubt be found. + +CYMBELINE. +The time is troublesome. +[_To Pisanio._] We’ll slip you for a season; but our jealousy +Does yet depend. + +LORD. +So please your Majesty, +The Roman legions, all from Gallia drawn, +Are landed on your coast, with a supply +Of Roman gentlemen by the Senate sent. + +CYMBELINE. +Now for the counsel of my son and queen! +I am amaz’d with matter. + +LORD. +Good my liege, +Your preparation can affront no less +Than what you hear of. Come more, for more you’re ready. +The want is but to put those pow’rs in motion +That long to move. + +CYMBELINE. +I thank you. Let’s withdraw, +And meet the time as it seeks us. We fear not +What can from Italy annoy us; but +We grieve at chances here. Away! + + [_Exeunt all but Pisanio._] + +PISANIO. +I heard no letter from my master since +I wrote him Imogen was slain. ’Tis strange. +Nor hear I from my mistress, who did promise +To yield me often tidings. Neither know I +What is betid to Cloten, but remain +Perplex’d in all. The heavens still must work. +Wherein I am false I am honest; not true, to be true. +These present wars shall find I love my country, +Even to the note o’ th’ King, or I’ll fall in them. +All other doubts, by time let them be clear’d: +Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer’d. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Wales. Before the cave of Belarius. + + Enter Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +GUIDERIUS. +The noise is round about us. + +BELARIUS. +Let us from it. + +ARVIRAGUS. +What pleasure, sir, find we in life, to lock it +From action and adventure? + +GUIDERIUS. +Nay, what hope +Have we in hiding us? This way the Romans +Must or for Britons slay us, or receive us +For barbarous and unnatural revolts +During their use, and slay us after. + +BELARIUS. +Sons, +We’ll higher to the mountains; there secure us. +To the King’s party there’s no going. Newness +Of Cloten’s death (we being not known, not muster’d +Among the bands) may drive us to a render +Where we have liv’d, and so extort from’s that +Which we have done, whose answer would be death, +Drawn on with torture. + +GUIDERIUS. +This is, sir, a doubt +In such a time nothing becoming you +Nor satisfying us. + +ARVIRAGUS. +It is not likely +That when they hear the Roman horses neigh, +Behold their quarter’d fires, have both their eyes +And ears so cloy’d importantly as now, +That they will waste their time upon our note, +To know from whence we are. + +BELARIUS. +O, I am known +Of many in the army. Many years, +Though Cloten then but young, you see, not wore him +From my remembrance. And, besides, the King +Hath not deserv’d my service nor your loves, +Who find in my exile the want of breeding, +The certainty of this hard life; aye hopeless +To have the courtesy your cradle promis’d, +But to be still hot summer’s tanlings and +The shrinking slaves of winter. + +GUIDERIUS. +Than be so, +Better to cease to be. Pray, sir, to th’ army. +I and my brother are not known; yourself +So out of thought, and thereto so o’ergrown, +Cannot be questioned. + +ARVIRAGUS. +By this sun that shines, +I’ll thither. What thing is’t that I never +Did see man die! scarce ever look’d on blood +But that of coward hares, hot goats, and venison! +Never bestrid a horse, save one that had +A rider like myself, who ne’er wore rowel +Nor iron on his heel! I am asham’d +To look upon the holy sun, to have +The benefit of his blest beams, remaining +So long a poor unknown. + +GUIDERIUS. +By heavens, I’ll go! +If you will bless me, sir, and give me leave, +I’ll take the better care; but if you will not, +The hazard therefore due fall on me by +The hands of Romans! + +ARVIRAGUS. +So say I. Amen. + +BELARIUS. +No reason I, since of your lives you set +So slight a valuation, should reserve +My crack’d one to more care. Have with you, boys! +If in your country wars you chance to die, +That is my bed too, lads, and there I’ll lie. +Lead, lead. [_Aside._] The time seems long; their blood thinks scorn +Till it fly out and show them princes born. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. Britain. The Roman camp. + + + Enter Posthumus alone, with a bloody handkerchief. + +POSTHUMUS. +Yea, bloody cloth, I’ll keep thee; for I wish’d +Thou shouldst be colour’d thus. You married ones, +If each of you should take this course, how many +Must murder wives much better than themselves +For wrying but a little! O Pisanio! +Every good servant does not all commands; +No bond but to do just ones. Gods! if you +Should have ta’en vengeance on my faults, I never +Had liv’d to put on this; so had you saved +The noble Imogen to repent, and struck +Me, wretch more worth your vengeance. But alack, +You snatch some hence for little faults; that’s love, +To have them fall no more. You some permit +To second ills with ills, each elder worse, +And make them dread it, to the doers’ thrift. +But Imogen is your own. Do your best wills, +And make me blest to obey. I am brought hither +Among th’ Italian gentry, and to fight +Against my lady’s kingdom. ’Tis enough +That, Britain, I have kill’d thy mistress; peace! +I’ll give no wound to thee. Therefore, good heavens, +Hear patiently my purpose. I’ll disrobe me +Of these Italian weeds, and suit myself +As does a Britain peasant. So I’ll fight +Against the part I come with; so I’ll die +For thee, O Imogen, even for whom my life +Is every breath a death. And thus unknown, +Pitied nor hated, to the face of peril +Myself I’ll dedicate. Let me make men know +More valour in me than my habits show. +Gods, put the strength o’ th’ Leonati in me! +To shame the guise o’ th’ world, I will begin +The fashion less without and more within. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE II. Britain. A field of battle between the British and Roman +camps. + + Enter Lucius, Iachimo and the Roman army at one door, and the British + army at another, Leonatus Posthumus following like a poor soldier. + They march over and go out. Alarums. Then enter again, in skirmish, + Iachimo and Posthumus. He vanquisheth and disarmeth Iachimo and then + leaves him. + +IACHIMO. +The heaviness and guilt within my bosom +Takes off my manhood. I have belied a lady, +The Princess of this country, and the air on’t +Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carl, +A very drudge of nature’s, have subdu’d me +In my profession? Knighthoods and honours borne +As I wear mine are titles but of scorn. +If that thy gentry, Britain, go before +This lout as he exceeds our lords, the odds +Is that we scarce are men, and you are gods. + + [_Exit._] + + The battle continues; the Britons fly; Cymbeline is taken. Then enter + to his rescue Belarius, Guiderius and Arviragus. + +BELARIUS. +Stand, stand! We have th’ advantage of the ground; +The lane is guarded; nothing routs us but +The villainy of our fears. + +GUIDERIUS and ARVIRAGUS. +Stand, stand, and fight! + + Enter Posthumus and seconds the Britons; they rescue Cymbeline and + exeunt. Then re-enter Lucius and Iachimo with Imogen. + +LUCIUS. +Away, boy, from the troops, and save thyself; +For friends kill friends, and the disorder’s such +As war were hoodwink’d. + +IACHIMO. +’Tis their fresh supplies. + +LUCIUS. +It is a day turn’d strangely. Or betimes +Let’s reinforce or fly. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Another part of the field. + + Enter Posthumus and a Briton Lord. + +LORD. +Cam’st thou from where they made the stand? + +POSTHUMUS. +I did: +Though you, it seems, come from the fliers. + +LORD. +I did. + +POSTHUMUS. +No blame be to you, sir, for all was lost, +But that the heavens fought. The King himself +Of his wings destitute, the army broken, +And but the backs of Britons seen, all flying, +Through a strait lane; the enemy, full-hearted, +Lolling the tongue with slaught’ring, having work +More plentiful than tools to do’t, struck down +Some mortally, some slightly touch’d, some falling +Merely through fear, that the strait pass was damm’d +With dead men hurt behind, and cowards living +To die with length’ned shame. + +LORD. +Where was this lane? + +POSTHUMUS. +Close by the battle, ditch’d, and wall’d with turf, +Which gave advantage to an ancient soldier, +An honest one, I warrant, who deserv’d +So long a breeding as his white beard came to, +In doing this for’s country. Athwart the lane +He, with two striplings (lads more like to run +The country base than to commit such slaughter; +With faces fit for masks, or rather fairer +Than those for preservation cas’d or shame) +Made good the passage, cried to those that fled +‘Our Britain’s harts die flying, not our men. +To darkness fleet souls that fly backwards! Stand; +Or we are Romans and will give you that, +Like beasts, which you shun beastly, and may save +But to look back in frown. Stand, stand!’ These three, +Three thousand confident, in act as many— +For three performers are the file when all +The rest do nothing—with this word ‘Stand, stand!’ +Accommodated by the place, more charming +With their own nobleness, which could have turn’d +A distaff to a lance, gilded pale looks, +Part shame, part spirit renew’d; that some turn’d coward +But by example (O, a sin in war +Damn’d in the first beginners) ’gan to look +The way that they did and to grin like lions +Upon the pikes o’ th’ hunters. Then began +A stop i’ th’ chaser, a retire; anon +A rout, confusion thick. Forthwith they fly, +Chickens, the way which they stoop’d eagles; slaves, +The strides they victors made; and now our cowards, +Like fragments in hard voyages, became +The life o’ th’ need. Having found the back-door open +Of the unguarded hearts, heavens, how they wound! +Some slain before, some dying, some their friends +O’erborne i’ th’ former wave. Ten chas’d by one +Are now each one the slaughterman of twenty. +Those that would die or ere resist are grown +The mortal bugs o’ th’ field. + +LORD. +This was strange chance: +A narrow lane, an old man, and two boys. + +POSTHUMUS. +Nay, do not wonder at it; you are made +Rather to wonder at the things you hear +Than to work any. Will you rhyme upon’t, +And vent it for a mock’ry? Here is one: + + + ‘Two boys, an old man (twice a boy), a lane, + Preserv’d the Britons, was the Romans’ bane.’ + +LORD. +Nay, be not angry, sir. + +POSTHUMUS. +’Lack, to what end? +Who dares not stand his foe I’ll be his friend; +For if he’ll do as he is made to do, +I know he’ll quickly fly my friendship too. +You have put me into rhyme. + +LORD. +Farewell; you’re angry. + + [_Exit._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Still going? This is a lord! O noble misery, +To be i’ th’ field and ask ‘What news?’ of me! +Today how many would have given their honours +To have sav’d their carcasses! took heel to do’t, +And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d, +Could not find death where I did hear him groan, +Nor feel him where he struck. Being an ugly monster, +’Tis strange he hides him in fresh cups, soft beds, +Sweet words; or hath moe ministers than we +That draw his knives i’ th’ war. Well, I will find him; +For being now a favourer to the Briton, +No more a Briton, I have resum’d again +The part I came in. Fight I will no more, +But yield me to the veriest hind that shall +Once touch my shoulder. Great the slaughter is +Here made by th’ Roman; great the answer be +Britons must take. For me, my ransom’s death; +On either side I come to spend my breath, +Which neither here I’ll keep nor bear again, +But end it by some means for Imogen. + + Enter two British Captains and soldiers. + +FIRST CAPTAIN. +Great Jupiter be prais’d! Lucius is taken. +’Tis thought the old man and his sons were angels. + +SECOND CAPTAIN. +There was a fourth man, in a silly habit, +That gave th’ affront with them. + +FIRST CAPTAIN. +So ’tis reported; +But none of ’em can be found. Stand! who’s there? + +POSTHUMUS. +A Roman, +Who had not now been drooping here if seconds +Had answer’d him. + +SECOND CAPTAIN. +Lay hands on him; a dog! +A leg of Rome shall not return to tell +What crows have peck’d them here. He brags his service, +As if he were of note. Bring him to th’ King. + + Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio and Roman + captives. The Captains present Posthumus to Cymbeline, who delivers + him over to a gaoler. + + [_Exeunt omnes._] + +SCENE IV. Britain. A prison. + + Enter Posthumus and two Gaolers. + +FIRST GAOLER. You shall not now be stol’n, you have locks upon you; +So graze as you find pasture. + +SECOND GAOLER. +Ay, or a stomach. + + [_Exeunt Gaolers._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Most welcome, bondage! for thou art a way, +I think, to liberty. Yet am I better +Than one that’s sick o’ th’ gout, since he had rather +Groan so in perpetuity than be cur’d +By th’ sure physician death, who is the key +T’ unbar these locks. My conscience, thou art fetter’d +More than my shanks and wrists; you good gods, give me +The penitent instrument to pick that bolt, +Then, free for ever! Is’t enough I am sorry? +So children temporal fathers do appease; +Gods are more full of mercy. Must I repent, +I cannot do it better than in gyves, +Desir’d more than constrain’d. To satisfy, +If of my freedom ’tis the main part, take +No stricter render of me than my all. +I know you are more clement than vile men, +Who of their broken debtors take a third, +A sixth, a tenth, letting them thrive again +On their abatement; that’s not my desire. +For Imogen’s dear life take mine; and though +’Tis not so dear, yet ’tis a life; you coin’d it. +’Tween man and man they weigh not every stamp; +Though light, take pieces for the figure’s sake; +You rather mine, being yours. And so, great pow’rs, +If you will take this audit, take this life, +And cancel these cold bonds. O Imogen! +I’ll speak to thee in silence. + + [_Sleeps._] + + Solemn music. Enter, as in an apparition, Sicilius Leonatus, father to + Posthumus, an old man attired like a warrior; leading in his hand an + ancient matron, his wife and Mother to Posthumus, with music before + them. Then, after other music, follows the two young Leonati, brothers + to Posthumus, with wounds, as they died in the wars. They circle + Posthumus round as he lies sleeping. + +SICILIUS. +No more, thou thunder-master, show +Thy spite on mortal flies. +With Mars fall out, with Juno chide, +That thy adulteries +Rates and revenges. +Hath my poor boy done aught but well, +Whose face I never saw? +I died whilst in the womb he stay’d +Attending nature’s law; +Whose father then, as men report +Thou orphans’ father art, +Thou shouldst have been, and shielded him +From this earth-vexing smart. + +MOTHER. +Lucina lent not me her aid, +But took me in my throes, +That from me was Posthumus ripp’d, +Came crying ’mongst his foes, +A thing of pity. + +SICILIUS. +Great Nature like his ancestry +Moulded the stuff so fair +That he deserv’d the praise o’ th’ world +As great Sicilius’ heir. + +FIRST BROTHER. +When once he was mature for man, +In Britain where was he +That could stand up his parallel, +Or fruitful object be +In eye of Imogen, that best +Could deem his dignity? + +MOTHER. +With marriage wherefore was he mock’d, +To be exil’d and thrown +From Leonati seat and cast +From her his dearest one, +Sweet Imogen? + +SICILIUS. +Why did you suffer Iachimo, +Slight thing of Italy, +To taint his nobler heart and brain +With needless jealousy, +And to become the geck and scorn +O’ th’ other’s villainy? + +SECOND BROTHER. +For this from stiller seats we came, +Our parents and us twain, +That, striking in our country’s cause, +Fell bravely and were slain, +Our fealty and Tenantius’ right +With honour to maintain. + +FIRST BROTHER. +Like hardiment Posthumus hath +To Cymbeline perform’d. +Then, Jupiter, thou king of gods, +Why hast thou thus adjourn’d +The graces for his merits due, +Being all to dolours turn’d? + +SICILIUS. +Thy crystal window ope; look out; +No longer exercise +Upon a valiant race thy harsh +And potent injuries. + +MOTHER. +Since, Jupiter, our son is good, +Take off his miseries. + +SICILIUS. +Peep through thy marble mansion. Help! +Or we poor ghosts will cry +To th’ shining synod of the rest +Against thy deity. + +BROTHERS. +Help, Jupiter! or we appeal, +And from thy justice fly. + + Jupiter descends in thunder and lightning, sitting upon an eagle. He + throws a thunderbolt. The Ghosts fall on their knees. + +JUPITER. +No more, you petty spirits of region low, +Offend our hearing; hush! How dare you ghosts +Accuse the Thunderer whose bolt, you know, +Sky-planted, batters all rebelling coasts? +Poor shadows of Elysium, hence and rest +Upon your never-withering banks of flow’rs. +Be not with mortal accidents opprest: +No care of yours it is; you know ’tis ours. +Whom best I love I cross; to make my gift, +The more delay’d, delighted. Be content; +Your low-laid son our godhead will uplift; +His comforts thrive, his trials well are spent. +Our Jovial star reign’d at his birth, and in +Our temple was he married. Rise and fade! +He shall be lord of Lady Imogen, +And happier much by his affliction made. +This tablet lay upon his breast, wherein +Our pleasure his full fortune doth confine; +And so, away; no farther with your din +Express impatience, lest you stir up mine. +Mount, eagle, to my palace crystalline. + + [_Ascends._] + +SICILIUS. +He came in thunder; his celestial breath +Was sulphurous to smell; the holy eagle +Stoop’d as to foot us. His ascension is +More sweet than our blest fields. His royal bird +Prunes the immortal wing, and cloys his beak, +As when his god is pleas’d. + +ALL. +Thanks, Jupiter! + +SICILIUS. +The marble pavement closes, he is enter’d +His radiant roof. Away! and, to be blest, +Let us with care perform his great behest. + + [_Ghosts vanish._] + +POSTHUMUS. +[_Waking._] Sleep, thou has been a grandsire and begot +A father to me; and thou hast created +A mother and two brothers. But, O scorn, +Gone! They went hence so soon as they were born. +And so I am awake. Poor wretches, that depend +On greatness’ favour, dream as I have done; +Wake and find nothing. But, alas, I swerve; +Many dream not to find, neither deserve, +And yet are steep’d in favours; so am I, +That have this golden chance, and know not why. +What fairies haunt this ground? A book? O rare one! +Be not, as is our fangled world, a garment +Nobler than that it covers. Let thy effects +So follow to be most unlike our courtiers, +As good as promise. + +[_Reads._] _When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without +seeking find, and be embrac’d by a piece of tender air; and when from a +stately cedar shall be lopp’d branches which, being dead many years, +shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then +shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in +peace and plenty._ + +’Tis still a dream, or else such stuff as madmen +Tongue, and brain not; either both or nothing, +Or senseless speaking, or a speaking such +As sense cannot untie. Be what it is, +The action of my life is like it, which +I’ll keep, if but for sympathy. + + Enter Gaoler. + +GAOLER. +Come, sir, are you ready for death? + +POSTHUMUS. +Over-roasted rather; ready long ago. + +GAOLER. +Hanging is the word, sir; if you be ready for that, you are well +cook’d. + +POSTHUMUS. +So, if I prove a good repast to the spectators, the dish pays the shot. + +GAOLER. +A heavy reckoning for you, sir. But the comfort is, you shall be called +to no more payments, fear no more tavern bills, which are often the +sadness of parting, as the procuring of mirth. You come in faint for +want of meat, depart reeling with too much drink; sorry that you have +paid too much, and sorry that you are paid too much; purse and brain +both empty; the brain the heavier for being too light, the purse too +light, being drawn of heaviness. O, of this contradiction you shall now +be quit. O, the charity of a penny cord! It sums up thousands in a +trice. You have no true debitor and creditor but it; of what’s past, +is, and to come, the discharge. Your neck, sir, is pen, book, and +counters; so the acquittance follows. + +POSTHUMUS. +I am merrier to die than thou art to live. + +GAOLER. +Indeed, sir, he that sleeps feels not the toothache. But a man that +were to sleep your sleep, and a hangman to help him to bed, I think he +would change places with his officer; for look you, sir, you know not +which way you shall go. + +POSTHUMUS. +Yes indeed do I, fellow. + +GAOLER. +Your death has eyes in’s head, then; I have not seen him so pictur’d. +You must either be directed by some that take upon them to know, or to +take upon yourself that which I am sure you do not know, or jump the +after-inquiry on your own peril. And how you shall speed in your +journey’s end, I think you’ll never return to tell one. + +POSTHUMUS. +I tell thee, fellow, there are none want eyes to direct them the way I +am going, but such as wink and will not use them. + +GAOLER. +What an infinite mock is this, that a man should have the best use of +eyes to see the way of blindness! I am sure hanging’s the way of +winking. + + Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +Knock off his manacles; bring your prisoner to the King. + +POSTHUMUS. +Thou bring’st good news: I am call’d to be made free. + +GAOLER. +I’ll be hang’d then. + +POSTHUMUS. +Thou shalt be then freer than a gaoler; no bolts for the dead. + + [_Exeunt Posthumus and Messenger._] + +GAOLER. +Unless a man would marry a gallows and beget young gibbets, I never saw +one so prone. Yet, on my conscience, there are verier knaves desire to +live, for all he be a Roman; and there be some of them too that die +against their wills; so should I, if I were one. I would we were all of +one mind, and one mind good. O, there were desolation of gaolers and +gallowses! I speak against my present profit, but my wish hath a +preferment in’t. + + [_Exit._] + +SCENE V. Britain. Cymbeline’s tent. + + Enter Cymbeline, Belarius, Guiderius, Arviragus, Pisanio, Lords, + Officers and Attendants. + +CYMBELINE. +Stand by my side, you whom the gods have made +Preservers of my throne. Woe is my heart +That the poor soldier that so richly fought, +Whose rags sham’d gilded arms, whose naked breast +Stepp’d before targes of proof, cannot be found. +He shall be happy that can find him, if +Our grace can make him so. + +BELARIUS. +I never saw +Such noble fury in so poor a thing; +Such precious deeds in one that promis’d nought +But beggary and poor looks. + +CYMBELINE. +No tidings of him? + +PISANIO. +He hath been search’d among the dead and living, +But no trace of him. + +CYMBELINE. +To my grief, I am +The heir of his reward, [_To Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus_] which +I will add +To you, the liver, heart, and brain of Britain, +By whom I grant she lives. ’Tis now the time +To ask of whence you are. Report it. + +BELARIUS. +Sir, +In Cambria are we born, and gentlemen; +Further to boast were neither true nor modest, +Unless I add we are honest. + +CYMBELINE. +Bow your knees. +Arise my knights o’ th’ battle; I create you +Companions to our person, and will fit you +With dignities becoming your estates. + + Enter Cornelius and Ladies. + +There’s business in these faces. Why so sadly +Greet you our victory? You look like Romans, +And not o’ th’ court of Britain. + +CORNELIUS. +Hail, great King! +To sour your happiness I must report +The Queen is dead. + +CYMBELINE. +Who worse than a physician +Would this report become? But I consider +By med’cine life may be prolong’d, yet death +Will seize the doctor too. How ended she? + +CORNELIUS. +With horror, madly dying, like her life; +Which, being cruel to the world, concluded +Most cruel to herself. What she confess’d +I will report, so please you; these her women +Can trip me if I err, who with wet cheeks +Were present when she finish’d. + +CYMBELINE. +Prithee say. + +CORNELIUS. +First, she confess’d she never lov’d you; only +Affected greatness got by you, not you; +Married your royalty, was wife to your place; +Abhorr’d your person. + +CYMBELINE. +She alone knew this; +And but she spoke it dying, I would not +Believe her lips in opening it. Proceed. + +CORNELIUS. +Your daughter, whom she bore in hand to love +With such integrity, she did confess +Was as a scorpion to her sight; whose life, +But that her flight prevented it, she had +Ta’en off by poison. + +CYMBELINE. +O most delicate fiend! +Who is’t can read a woman? Is there more? + +CORNELIUS. +More, sir, and worse. She did confess she had +For you a mortal mineral, which, being took, +Should by the minute feed on life, and ling’ring, +By inches waste you. In which time she purpos’d, +By watching, weeping, tendance, kissing, to +O’ercome you with her show; and in time, +When she had fitted you with her craft, to work +Her son into th’ adoption of the crown; +But failing of her end by his strange absence, +Grew shameless-desperate, open’d, in despite +Of heaven and men, her purposes, repented +The evils she hatch’d were not effected; so, +Despairing, died. + +CYMBELINE. +Heard you all this, her women? + +LADIES. +We did, so please your Highness. + +CYMBELINE. +Mine eyes +Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; +Mine ears, that heard her flattery; nor my heart +That thought her like her seeming. It had been vicious +To have mistrusted her; yet, O my daughter! +That it was folly in me thou mayst say, +And prove it in thy feeling. Heaven mend all! + + Enter Lucius, Iachimo, the Soothsayer and other Roman prisoners, + guarded; Posthumus behind, and Imogen. + +Thou com’st not, Caius, now for tribute; that +The Britons have raz’d out, though with the loss +Of many a bold one, whose kinsmen have made suit +That their good souls may be appeas’d with slaughter +Of you their captives, which ourself have granted; +So think of your estate. + +LUCIUS. +Consider, sir, the chance of war. The day +Was yours by accident; had it gone with us, +We should not, when the blood was cool, have threaten’d +Our prisoners with the sword. But since the gods +Will have it thus, that nothing but our lives +May be call’d ransom, let it come. Sufficeth +A Roman with a Roman’s heart can suffer. +Augustus lives to think on’t; and so much +For my peculiar care. This one thing only +I will entreat: my boy, a Briton born, +Let him be ransom’d. Never master had +A page so kind, so duteous, diligent, +So tender over his occasions, true, +So feat, so nurse-like; let his virtue join +With my request, which I’ll make bold your Highness +Cannot deny; he hath done no Briton harm +Though he have serv’d a Roman. Save him, sir, +And spare no blood beside. + +CYMBELINE. +I have surely seen him; +His favour is familiar to me. Boy, +Thou hast look’d thyself into my grace, +And art mine own. I know not why, wherefore +To say “Live, boy.” Ne’er thank thy master. Live; +And ask of Cymbeline what boon thou wilt, +Fitting my bounty and thy state, I’ll give it; +Yea, though thou do demand a prisoner, +The noblest ta’en. + +IMOGEN. +I humbly thank your Highness. + +LUCIUS. +I do not bid thee beg my life, good lad, +And yet I know thou wilt. + +IMOGEN. +No, no! Alack, +There’s other work in hand. I see a thing +Bitter to me as death; your life, good master, +Must shuffle for itself. + +LUCIUS. +The boy disdains me, +He leaves me, scorns me. Briefly die their joys +That place them on the truth of girls and boys. +Why stands he so perplex’d? + +CYMBELINE. +What wouldst thou, boy? +I love thee more and more; think more and more +What’s best to ask. Know’st him thou look’st on? Speak, +Wilt have him live? Is he thy kin? thy friend? + +IMOGEN. +He is a Roman, no more kin to me +Than I to your Highness; who, being born your vassal, +Am something nearer. + +CYMBELINE. +Wherefore ey’st him so? + +IMOGEN. +I’ll tell you, sir, in private, if you please +To give me hearing. + +CYMBELINE. +Ay, with all my heart, +And lend my best attention. What’s thy name? + +IMOGEN. +Fidele, sir. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou’rt my good youth, my page; +I’ll be thy master. Walk with me; speak freely. + + [_Cymbeline and Imogen converse apart._] + +BELARIUS. +Is not this boy reviv’d from death? + +ARVIRAGUS. +One sand another +Not more resembles that sweet rosy lad +Who died and was Fidele. What think you? + +GUIDERIUS. +The same dead thing alive. + +BELARIUS. +Peace, peace! see further. He eyes us not; forbear. +Creatures may be alike; were’t he, I am sure +He would have spoke to us. + +GUIDERIUS. +But we see him dead. + +BELARIUS. +Be silent; let’s see further. + +PISANIO. +[_Aside._] It is my mistress. +Since she is living, let the time run on +To good or bad. + + [_Cymbeline and Imogen advance._] + +CYMBELINE. +Come, stand thou by our side; +Make thy demand aloud. [_To Iachimo._] Sir, step you forth; +Give answer to this boy, and do it freely, +Or, by our greatness and the grace of it, +Which is our honour, bitter torture shall +Winnow the truth from falsehood. On, speak to him. + +IMOGEN. +My boon is that this gentleman may render +Of whom he had this ring. + +POSTHUMUS. +[_Aside._] What’s that to him? + +CYMBELINE. +That diamond upon your finger, say +How came it yours? + +IACHIMO. +Thou’lt torture me to leave unspoken that +Which to be spoke would torture thee. + +CYMBELINE. +How? me? + +IACHIMO. +I am glad to be constrain’d to utter that +Which torments me to conceal. By villainy +I got this ring; ’twas Leonatus’ jewel, +Whom thou didst banish; and—which more may grieve thee, +As it doth me—a nobler sir ne’er liv’d +’Twixt sky and ground. Wilt thou hear more, my lord? + +CYMBELINE. +All that belongs to this. + +IACHIMO. +That paragon, thy daughter, +For whom my heart drops blood and my false spirits +Quail to remember—Give me leave, I faint. + +CYMBELINE. +My daughter? What of her? Renew thy strength; +I had rather thou shouldst live while nature will +Than die ere I hear more. Strive, man, and speak. + +IACHIMO. +Upon a time, unhappy was the clock +That struck the hour: was in Rome, accurs’d +The mansion where: ’twas at a feast, O, would +Our viands had been poison’d (or at least +Those which I heav’d to head) the good Posthumus +(What should I say? he was too good to be +Where ill men were, and was the best of all +Amongst the rar’st of good ones) sitting sadly +Hearing us praise our loves of Italy +For beauty that made barren the swell’d boast +Of him that best could speak; for feature, laming +The shrine of Venus or straight-pight Minerva, +Postures beyond brief nature; for condition, +A shop of all the qualities that man +Loves woman for; besides that hook of wiving, +Fairness which strikes the eye. + +CYMBELINE. +I stand on fire. +Come to the matter. + +IACHIMO. +All too soon I shall, +Unless thou wouldst grieve quickly. This Posthumus, +Most like a noble lord in love and one +That had a royal lover, took his hint; +And (not dispraising whom we prais’d, therein +He was as calm as virtue) he began +His mistress’ picture; which by his tongue being made, +And then a mind put in’t, either our brags +Were crack’d of kitchen trulls, or his description +Prov’d us unspeaking sots. + +CYMBELINE. +Nay, nay, to th’ purpose. + +IACHIMO. +Your daughter’s chastity (there it begins) +He spake of her as Dian had hot dreams +And she alone were cold; whereat I, wretch, +Made scruple of his praise, and wager’d with him +Pieces of gold ’gainst this which then he wore +Upon his honour’d finger, to attain +In suit the place of’s bed, and win this ring +By hers and mine adultery. He, true knight, +No lesser of her honour confident +Than I did truly find her, stakes this ring; +And would so, had it been a carbuncle +Of Phoebus’ wheel; and might so safely, had it +Been all the worth of’s car. Away to Britain +Post I in this design. Well may you, sir, +Remember me at court, where I was taught +Of your chaste daughter the wide difference +’Twixt amorous and villainous. Being thus quench’d +Of hope, not longing, mine Italian brain +Gan in your duller Britain operate +Most vilely; for my vantage, excellent; +And, to be brief, my practice so prevail’d +That I return’d with simular proof enough +To make the noble Leonatus mad, +By wounding his belief in her renown +With tokens thus and thus; averring notes +Of chamber-hanging, pictures, this her bracelet +(O cunning, how I got it!) nay, some marks +Of secret on her person, that he could not +But think her bond of chastity quite crack’d, +I having ta’en the forfeit. Whereupon +Methinks I see him now— + +POSTHUMUS. +[_Coming forward._] Ay, so thou dost, +Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool, +Egregious murderer, thief, anything +That’s due to all the villains past, in being, +To come! O, give me cord, or knife, or poison, +Some upright justicer! Thou, King, send out +For torturers ingenious. It is I +That all th’ abhorred things o’ th’ earth amend +By being worse than they. I am Posthumus, +That kill’d thy daughter; villain-like, I lie; +That caus’d a lesser villain than myself, +A sacrilegious thief, to do’t. The temple +Of virtue was she; yea, and she herself. +Spit, and throw stones, cast mire upon me, set +The dogs o’ th’ street to bay me. Every villain +Be call’d Posthumus Leonatus, and +Be villainy less than ’twas! O Imogen! +My queen, my life, my wife! O Imogen, +Imogen, Imogen! + +IMOGEN. +Peace, my lord. Hear, hear! + +POSTHUMUS. +Shall’s have a play of this? Thou scornful page, +There lies thy part. + + [_Strikes her. She falls._] + +PISANIO. +O gentlemen, help! +Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! +You ne’er kill’d Imogen till now. Help, help! +Mine honour’d lady! + +CYMBELINE. +Does the world go round? + +POSTHUMUS. +How comes these staggers on me? + +PISANIO. +Wake, my mistress! + +CYMBELINE. +If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me +To death with mortal joy. + +PISANIO. +How fares my mistress? + +IMOGEN. +O, get thee from my sight; +Thou gav’st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence! +Breathe not where princes are. + +CYMBELINE. +The tune of Imogen! + +PISANIO. +Lady, +The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if +That box I gave you was not thought by me +A precious thing! I had it from the Queen. + +CYMBELINE. +New matter still? + +IMOGEN. +It poison’d me. + +CORNELIUS. +O gods! +I left out one thing which the Queen confess’d, +Which must approve thee honest. ‘If Pisanio +Have’ said she ‘given his mistress that confection +Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv’d +As I would serve a rat.’ + +CYMBELINE. +What’s this, Cornelius? + +CORNELIUS. +The Queen, sir, very oft importun’d me +To temper poisons for her; still pretending +The satisfaction of her knowledge only +In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs, +Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose +Was of more danger, did compound for her +A certain stuff, which, being ta’en would cease +The present pow’r of life, but in short time +All offices of nature should again +Do their due functions. Have you ta’en of it? + +IMOGEN. +Most like I did, for I was dead. + +BELARIUS. +My boys, +There was our error. + +GUIDERIUS. +This is sure Fidele. + +IMOGEN. +Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? +Think that you are upon a rock, and now +Throw me again. + + [_Embracing him._] + +POSTHUMUS. +Hang there like fruit, my soul, +Till the tree die! + +CYMBELINE. +How now, my flesh? my child? +What, mak’st thou me a dullard in this act? +Wilt thou not speak to me? + +IMOGEN. +[_Kneeling._] Your blessing, sir. + +BELARIUS. +[_To Guiderius and Arviragus._] Though you did love this youth, I blame +ye not; +You had a motive for’t. + +CYMBELINE. +My tears that fall +Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, +Thy mother’s dead. + +IMOGEN. +I am sorry for’t, my lord. + +CYMBELINE. +O, she was naught, and long of her it was +That we meet here so strangely; but her son +Is gone, we know not how nor where. + +PISANIO. +My lord, +Now fear is from me, I’ll speak troth. Lord Cloten, +Upon my lady’s missing, came to me +With his sword drawn, foam’d at the mouth, and swore, +If I discover’d not which way she was gone, +It was my instant death. By accident +I had a feigned letter of my master’s +Then in my pocket, which directed him +To seek her on the mountains near to Milford; +Where, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments, +Which he enforc’d from me, away he posts +With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate +My lady’s honour. What became of him +I further know not. + +GUIDERIUS. +Let me end the story: +I slew him there. + +CYMBELINE. +Marry, the gods forfend! +I would not thy good deeds should from my lips +Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth, +Deny’t again. + +GUIDERIUS. +I have spoke it, and I did it. + +CYMBELINE. +He was a prince. + +GUIDERIUS. +A most incivil one. The wrongs he did me +Were nothing prince-like; for he did provoke me +With language that would make me spurn the sea, +If it could so roar to me. I cut off’s head, +And am right glad he is not standing here +To tell this tale of mine. + +CYMBELINE. +I am sorry for thee. +By thine own tongue thou art condemn’d, and must +Endure our law. Thou’rt dead. + +IMOGEN. +That headless man +I thought had been my lord. + +CYMBELINE. +Bind the offender, +And take him from our presence. + +BELARIUS. +Stay, sir King. +This man is better than the man he slew, +As well descended as thyself, and hath +More of thee merited than a band of Clotens +Had ever scar for. [_To the guard._] Let his arms alone; +They were not born for bondage. + +CYMBELINE. +Why, old soldier, +Wilt thou undo the worth thou art unpaid for +By tasting of our wrath? How of descent +As good as we? + +ARVIRAGUS. +In that he spake too far. + +CYMBELINE. +And thou shalt die for’t. + +BELARIUS. +We will die all three; +But I will prove that two on’s are as good +As I have given out him. My sons, I must +For mine own part unfold a dangerous speech, +Though haply well for you. + +ARVIRAGUS. +Your danger’s ours. + +GUIDERIUS. +And our good his. + +BELARIUS. +Have at it then by leave! +Thou hadst, great King, a subject who +Was call’d Belarius. + +CYMBELINE. +What of him? He is +A banish’d traitor. + +BELARIUS. +He it is that hath +Assum’d this age; indeed a banish’d man; +I know not how a traitor. + +CYMBELINE. +Take him hence, +The whole world shall not save him. + +BELARIUS. +Not too hot. +First pay me for the nursing of thy sons, +And let it be confiscate all, so soon +As I have receiv’d it. + +CYMBELINE. +Nursing of my sons? + +BELARIUS. +I am too blunt and saucy: here’s my knee. +Ere I arise I will prefer my sons; +Then spare not the old father. Mighty sir, +These two young gentlemen that call me father, +And think they are my sons, are none of mine; +They are the issue of your loins, my liege, +And blood of your begetting. + +CYMBELINE. +How? my issue? + +BELARIUS. +So sure as you your father’s. I, old Morgan, +Am that Belarius whom you sometime banish’d. +Your pleasure was my mere offence, my punishment +Itself, and all my treason; that I suffer’d +Was all the harm I did. These gentle princes +(For such and so they are) these twenty years +Have I train’d up; those arts they have as I +Could put into them. My breeding was, sir, as +Your Highness knows. Their nurse, Euriphile, +Whom for the theft I wedded, stole these children +Upon my banishment; I mov’d her to’t, +Having receiv’d the punishment before +For that which I did then. Beaten for loyalty +Excited me to treason. Their dear loss, +The more of you ’twas felt, the more it shap’d +Unto my end of stealing them. But, gracious sir, +Here are your sons again, and I must lose +Two of the sweet’st companions in the world. +The benediction of these covering heavens +Fall on their heads like dew! for they are worthy +To inlay heaven with stars. + +CYMBELINE. +Thou weep’st and speak’st. +The service that you three have done is more +Unlike than this thou tell’st. I lost my children. +If these be they, I know not how to wish +A pair of worthier sons. + +BELARIUS. +Be pleas’d awhile. +This gentleman, whom I call Polydore, +Most worthy prince, as yours, is true Guiderius; +This gentleman, my Cadwal, Arviragus, +Your younger princely son; he, sir, was lapp’d +In a most curious mantle, wrought by th’ hand +Of his queen mother, which for more probation +I can with ease produce. + +CYMBELINE. +Guiderius had +Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; +It was a mark of wonder. + +BELARIUS. +This is he, +Who hath upon him still that natural stamp. +It was wise nature’s end in the donation, +To be his evidence now. + +CYMBELINE. +O, what am I? +A mother to the birth of three? Ne’er mother +Rejoic’d deliverance more. Blest pray you be, +That, after this strange starting from your orbs, +You may reign in them now! O Imogen, +Thou hast lost by this a kingdom. + +IMOGEN. +No, my lord; +I have got two worlds by’t. O my gentle brothers, +Have we thus met? O, never say hereafter +But I am truest speaker! You call’d me brother, +When I was but your sister: I you brothers, +When we were so indeed. + +CYMBELINE. +Did you e’er meet? + +ARVIRAGUS. +Ay, my good lord. + +GUIDERIUS. +And at first meeting lov’d, +Continu’d so until we thought he died. + +CORNELIUS. +By the Queen’s dram she swallow’d. + +CYMBELINE. +O rare instinct! +When shall I hear all through? This fierce abridgement +Hath to it circumstantial branches, which +Distinction should be rich in. Where? how liv’d you? +And when came you to serve our Roman captive? +How parted with your brothers? how first met them? +Why fled you from the court? and whither? These, +And your three motives to the battle, with +I know not how much more, should be demanded, +And all the other by-dependances, +From chance to chance; but nor the time nor place +Will serve our long interrogatories. See, +Posthumus anchors upon Imogen; +And she, like harmless lightning, throws her eye +On him, her brothers, me, her master, hitting +Each object with a joy; the counterchange +Is severally in all. Let’s quit this ground, +And smoke the temple with our sacrifices. +[_To Belarius._] Thou art my brother; so we’ll hold thee ever. + +IMOGEN. +You are my father too, and did relieve me +To see this gracious season. + +CYMBELINE. +All o’erjoy’d +Save these in bonds. Let them be joyful too, +For they shall taste our comfort. + +IMOGEN. +My good master, +I will yet do you service. + +LUCIUS. +Happy be you! + +CYMBELINE. +The forlorn soldier, that so nobly fought, +He would have well becom’d this place and grac’d +The thankings of a king. + +POSTHUMUS. +I am, sir, +The soldier that did company these three +In poor beseeming; ’twas a fitment for +The purpose I then follow’d. That I was he, +Speak, Iachimo. I had you down, and might +Have made you finish. + +IACHIMO. +[_Kneeling._] I am down again; +But now my heavy conscience sinks my knee, +As then your force did. Take that life, beseech you, +Which I so often owe; but your ring first, +And here the bracelet of the truest princess +That ever swore her faith. + +POSTHUMUS. +Kneel not to me. +The pow’r that I have on you is to spare you; +The malice towards you to forgive you. Live, +And deal with others better. + +CYMBELINE. +Nobly doom’d! +We’ll learn our freeness of a son-in-law; +Pardon’s the word to all. + +ARVIRAGUS. +You holp us, sir, +As you did mean indeed to be our brother; +Joy’d are we that you are. + +POSTHUMUS. +Your servant, Princes. Good my lord of Rome, +Call forth your soothsayer. As I slept, methought +Great Jupiter, upon his eagle back’d, +Appear’d to me, with other spritely shows +Of mine own kindred. When I wak’d, I found +This label on my bosom; whose containing +Is so from sense in hardness that I can +Make no collection of it. Let him show +His skill in the construction. + +LUCIUS. +Philarmonus! + +SOOTHSAYER. +Here, my good lord. + +LUCIUS. +Read, and declare the meaning. + +SOOTHSAYER. +[_Reads._] _When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself unknown, without +seeking find, and be embrac’d by a piece of tender air; and when from a +stately cedar shall be lopp’d branches which, being dead many years, +shall after revive, be jointed to the old stock, and freshly grow; then +shall Posthumus end his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in +peace and plenty._ +Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp; +The fit and apt construction of thy name, +Being Leo-natus, doth import so much. +[_To Cymbeline_] The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter, +Which we call _mollis aer_, and _mollis aer_ +We term it _mulier_; which _mulier_ I divine +Is this most constant wife, who even now +Answering the letter of the oracle, +Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about +With this most tender air. + +CYMBELINE. +This hath some seeming. + +SOOTHSAYER. +The lofty cedar, royal Cymbeline, +Personates thee; and thy lopp’d branches point +Thy two sons forth, who, by Belarius stol’n, +For many years thought dead, are now reviv’d, +To the majestic cedar join’d, whose issue +Promises Britain peace and plenty. + +CYMBELINE. +Well, +My peace we will begin. And, Caius Lucius, +Although the victor, we submit to Cæsar +And to the Roman empire, promising +To pay our wonted tribute, from the which +We were dissuaded by our wicked queen, +Whom heavens in justice, both on her and hers, +Have laid most heavy hand. + +SOOTHSAYER. +The fingers of the pow’rs above do tune +The harmony of this peace. The vision +Which I made known to Lucius ere the stroke +Of yet this scarce-cold battle, at this instant +Is full accomplish’d; for the Roman eagle, +From south to west on wing soaring aloft, +Lessen’d herself and in the beams o’ th’ sun +So vanish’d; which foreshow’d our princely eagle, +Th’ imperial Cæsar, should again unite +His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, +Which shines here in the west. + +CYMBELINE. +Laud we the gods; +And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils +From our bless’d altars. Publish we this peace +To all our subjects. Set we forward; let +A Roman and a British ensign wave +Friendly together. So through Lud’s Town march; +And in the temple of great Jupiter +Our peace we’ll ratify; seal it with feasts. +Set on there! Never was a war did cease, +Ere bloody hands were wash’d, with such a peace. + + [_Exeunt._] + + + + +THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK + + + + +Contents + + ACT I + Scene I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle + Scene II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle + Scene III. A room in Polonius’s house + Scene IV. The platform + Scene V. A more remote part of the Castle + + ACT II + Scene I. A room in Polonius’s house + Scene II. A room in the Castle + + ACT III + Scene I. A room in the Castle + Scene II. A hall in the Castle + Scene III. A room in the Castle + Scene IV. Another room in the Castle + + ACT IV + Scene I. A room in the Castle + Scene II. Another room in the Castle + Scene III. Another room in the Castle + Scene IV. A plain in Denmark + Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle + Scene VI. Another room in the Castle + Scene VII. Another room in the Castle + + ACT V + Scene I. A churchyard + Scene II. A hall in the Castle + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +HAMLET, Prince of Denmark +CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark, Hamlet’s uncle +The GHOST of the late king, Hamlet’s father +GERTRUDE, the Queen, Hamlet’s mother, now wife of Claudius +POLONIUS, Lord Chamberlain +LAERTES, Son to Polonius +OPHELIA, Daughter to Polonius +HORATIO, Friend to Hamlet +FORTINBRAS, Prince of Norway +VOLTEMAND, Courtier +CORNELIUS, Courtier +ROSENCRANTZ, Courtier +GUILDENSTERN, Courtier +MARCELLUS, Officer +BARNARDO, Officer +FRANCISCO, a Soldier +OSRIC, Courtier +REYNALDO, Servant to Polonius +Players +A Gentleman, Courtier +A Priest +Two Clowns, Grave-diggers +A Captain +English Ambassadors. +Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and Attendants + +SCENE. Elsinore. + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle. + + +Enter Francisco and Barnardo, two sentinels. + +BARNARDO. +Who’s there? + +FRANCISCO. +Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself. + +BARNARDO. +Long live the King! + +FRANCISCO. +Barnardo? + +BARNARDO. +He. + +FRANCISCO. +You come most carefully upon your hour. + +BARNARDO. +’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco. + +FRANCISCO. +For this relief much thanks. ’Tis bitter cold, +And I am sick at heart. + +BARNARDO. +Have you had quiet guard? + +FRANCISCO. +Not a mouse stirring. + +BARNARDO. +Well, good night. +If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, +The rivals of my watch, bid them make haste. + +Enter Horatio and Marcellus. + +FRANCISCO. +I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there? + +HORATIO. +Friends to this ground. + +MARCELLUS. +And liegemen to the Dane. + +FRANCISCO. +Give you good night. + +MARCELLUS. +O, farewell, honest soldier, who hath reliev’d you? + +FRANCISCO. +Barnardo has my place. Give you good-night. + +[_Exit._] + +MARCELLUS. +Holla, Barnardo! + +BARNARDO. +Say, what, is Horatio there? + +HORATIO. +A piece of him. + +BARNARDO. +Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus. + +MARCELLUS. +What, has this thing appear’d again tonight? + +BARNARDO. +I have seen nothing. + +MARCELLUS. +Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy, +And will not let belief take hold of him +Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us. +Therefore I have entreated him along +With us to watch the minutes of this night, +That if again this apparition come +He may approve our eyes and speak to it. + +HORATIO. +Tush, tush, ’twill not appear. + +BARNARDO. +Sit down awhile, +And let us once again assail your ears, +That are so fortified against our story, +What we two nights have seen. + +HORATIO. +Well, sit we down, +And let us hear Barnardo speak of this. + +BARNARDO. +Last night of all, +When yond same star that’s westward from the pole, +Had made his course t’illume that part of heaven +Where now it burns, Marcellus and myself, +The bell then beating one— + +MARCELLUS. +Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again. + +Enter Ghost. + +BARNARDO. +In the same figure, like the King that’s dead. + +MARCELLUS. +Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio. + +BARNARDO. +Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio. + +HORATIO. +Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder. + +BARNARDO +It would be spoke to. + +MARCELLUS. +Question it, Horatio. + +HORATIO. +What art thou that usurp’st this time of night, +Together with that fair and warlike form +In which the majesty of buried Denmark +Did sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee speak. + +MARCELLUS. +It is offended. + +BARNARDO. +See, it stalks away. + +HORATIO. +Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak! + +[_Exit Ghost._] + +MARCELLUS. +’Tis gone, and will not answer. + +BARNARDO. +How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale. +Is not this something more than fantasy? +What think you on’t? + +HORATIO. +Before my God, I might not this believe +Without the sensible and true avouch +Of mine own eyes. + +MARCELLUS. +Is it not like the King? + +HORATIO. +As thou art to thyself: +Such was the very armour he had on +When he th’ambitious Norway combated; +So frown’d he once, when in an angry parle +He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. +’Tis strange. + +MARCELLUS. +Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, +With martial stalk hath he gone by our watch. + +HORATIO. +In what particular thought to work I know not; +But in the gross and scope of my opinion, +This bodes some strange eruption to our state. + +MARCELLUS. +Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that knows, +Why this same strict and most observant watch +So nightly toils the subject of the land, +And why such daily cast of brazen cannon +And foreign mart for implements of war; +Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task +Does not divide the Sunday from the week. +What might be toward, that this sweaty haste +Doth make the night joint-labourer with the day: +Who is’t that can inform me? + +HORATIO. +That can I; +At least, the whisper goes so. Our last King, +Whose image even but now appear’d to us, +Was, as you know, by Fortinbras of Norway, +Thereto prick’d on by a most emulate pride, +Dar’d to the combat; in which our valiant Hamlet, +For so this side of our known world esteem’d him, +Did slay this Fortinbras; who by a seal’d compact, +Well ratified by law and heraldry, +Did forfeit, with his life, all those his lands +Which he stood seiz’d of, to the conqueror; +Against the which, a moiety competent +Was gaged by our King; which had return’d +To the inheritance of Fortinbras, +Had he been vanquisher; as by the same cov’nant +And carriage of the article design’d, +His fell to Hamlet. Now, sir, young Fortinbras, +Of unimproved mettle, hot and full, +Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, +Shark’d up a list of lawless resolutes, +For food and diet, to some enterprise +That hath a stomach in’t; which is no other, +As it doth well appear unto our state, +But to recover of us by strong hand +And terms compulsatory, those foresaid lands +So by his father lost. And this, I take it, +Is the main motive of our preparations, +The source of this our watch, and the chief head +Of this post-haste and rummage in the land. + +BARNARDO. +I think it be no other but e’en so: +Well may it sort that this portentous figure +Comes armed through our watch so like the King +That was and is the question of these wars. + +HORATIO. +A mote it is to trouble the mind’s eye. +In the most high and palmy state of Rome, +A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, +The graves stood tenantless and the sheeted dead +Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; +As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, +Disasters in the sun; and the moist star, +Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands, +Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse. +And even the like precurse of fierce events, +As harbingers preceding still the fates +And prologue to the omen coming on, +Have heaven and earth together demonstrated +Unto our climatures and countrymen. + +Re-enter Ghost. + +But, soft, behold! Lo, where it comes again! +I’ll cross it, though it blast me. Stay, illusion! +If thou hast any sound, or use of voice, +Speak to me. +If there be any good thing to be done, +That may to thee do ease, and grace to me, +Speak to me. +If thou art privy to thy country’s fate, +Which, happily, foreknowing may avoid, +O speak! +Or if thou hast uphoarded in thy life +Extorted treasure in the womb of earth, +For which, they say, you spirits oft walk in death, +Speak of it. Stay, and speak! + +[_The cock crows._] + +Stop it, Marcellus! + +MARCELLUS. +Shall I strike at it with my partisan? + +HORATIO. +Do, if it will not stand. + +BARNARDO. +’Tis here! + +HORATIO. +’Tis here! + +[_Exit Ghost._] + +MARCELLUS. +’Tis gone! +We do it wrong, being so majestical, +To offer it the show of violence, +For it is as the air, invulnerable, +And our vain blows malicious mockery. + +BARNARDO. +It was about to speak, when the cock crew. + +HORATIO. +And then it started, like a guilty thing +Upon a fearful summons. I have heard +The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn, +Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat +Awake the god of day; and at his warning, +Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air, +Th’extravagant and erring spirit hies +To his confine. And of the truth herein +This present object made probation. + +MARCELLUS. +It faded on the crowing of the cock. +Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes +Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated, +The bird of dawning singeth all night long; +And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad, +The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike, +No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm; +So hallow’d and so gracious is the time. + +HORATIO. +So have I heard, and do in part believe it. +But look, the morn in russet mantle clad, +Walks o’er the dew of yon high eastward hill. +Break we our watch up, and by my advice, +Let us impart what we have seen tonight +Unto young Hamlet; for upon my life, +This spirit, dumb to us, will speak to him. +Do you consent we shall acquaint him with it, +As needful in our loves, fitting our duty? + +MARCELLUS. +Let’s do’t, I pray, and I this morning know +Where we shall find him most conveniently. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle. + +Enter Claudius King of Denmark, Gertrude the Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, +Laertes, Voltemand, +Cornelius, Lords and Attendant. + +KING. +Though yet of Hamlet our dear brother’s death +The memory be green, and that it us befitted +To bear our hearts in grief, and our whole kingdom +To be contracted in one brow of woe; +Yet so far hath discretion fought with nature +That we with wisest sorrow think on him, +Together with remembrance of ourselves. +Therefore our sometime sister, now our queen, +Th’imperial jointress to this warlike state, +Have we, as ’twere with a defeated joy, +With one auspicious and one dropping eye, +With mirth in funeral, and with dirge in marriage, +In equal scale weighing delight and dole, +Taken to wife; nor have we herein barr’d +Your better wisdoms, which have freely gone +With this affair along. For all, our thanks. +Now follows, that you know young Fortinbras, +Holding a weak supposal of our worth, +Or thinking by our late dear brother’s death +Our state to be disjoint and out of frame, +Colleagued with this dream of his advantage, +He hath not fail’d to pester us with message, +Importing the surrender of those lands +Lost by his father, with all bonds of law, +To our most valiant brother. So much for him. +Now for ourself and for this time of meeting: +Thus much the business is: we have here writ +To Norway, uncle of young Fortinbras, +Who, impotent and bed-rid, scarcely hears +Of this his nephew’s purpose, to suppress +His further gait herein; in that the levies, +The lists, and full proportions are all made +Out of his subject: and we here dispatch +You, good Cornelius, and you, Voltemand, +For bearers of this greeting to old Norway, +Giving to you no further personal power +To business with the King, more than the scope +Of these dilated articles allow. +Farewell; and let your haste commend your duty. + +CORNELIUS and VOLTEMAND. +In that, and all things, will we show our duty. + +KING. +We doubt it nothing: heartily farewell. + +[_Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius._] + +And now, Laertes, what’s the news with you? +You told us of some suit. What is’t, Laertes? +You cannot speak of reason to the Dane, +And lose your voice. What wouldst thou beg, Laertes, +That shall not be my offer, not thy asking? +The head is not more native to the heart, +The hand more instrumental to the mouth, +Than is the throne of Denmark to thy father. +What wouldst thou have, Laertes? + +LAERTES. +Dread my lord, +Your leave and favour to return to France, +From whence though willingly I came to Denmark +To show my duty in your coronation; +Yet now I must confess, that duty done, +My thoughts and wishes bend again toward France, +And bow them to your gracious leave and pardon. + +KING. +Have you your father’s leave? What says Polonius? + +POLONIUS. +He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow leave +By laboursome petition; and at last +Upon his will I seal’d my hard consent. +I do beseech you give him leave to go. + +KING. +Take thy fair hour, Laertes; time be thine, +And thy best graces spend it at thy will! +But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son— + +HAMLET. +[_Aside._] A little more than kin, and less than kind. + +KING. +How is it that the clouds still hang on you? + +HAMLET. +Not so, my lord, I am too much i’ the sun. + +QUEEN. +Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off, +And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. +Do not for ever with thy vailed lids +Seek for thy noble father in the dust. +Thou know’st ’tis common, all that lives must die, +Passing through nature to eternity. + +HAMLET. +Ay, madam, it is common. + +QUEEN. +If it be, +Why seems it so particular with thee? + +HAMLET. +Seems, madam! Nay, it is; I know not seems. +’Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother, +Nor customary suits of solemn black, +Nor windy suspiration of forc’d breath, +No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, +Nor the dejected haviour of the visage, +Together with all forms, moods, shows of grief, +That can denote me truly. These indeed seem, +For they are actions that a man might play; +But I have that within which passeth show; +These but the trappings and the suits of woe. + +KING. +’Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, +To give these mourning duties to your father; +But you must know, your father lost a father, +That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound +In filial obligation, for some term +To do obsequious sorrow. But to persevere +In obstinate condolement is a course +Of impious stubbornness. ’Tis unmanly grief, +It shows a will most incorrect to heaven, +A heart unfortified, a mind impatient, +An understanding simple and unschool’d; +For what we know must be, and is as common +As any the most vulgar thing to sense, +Why should we in our peevish opposition +Take it to heart? Fie, ’tis a fault to heaven, +A fault against the dead, a fault to nature, +To reason most absurd, whose common theme +Is death of fathers, and who still hath cried, +From the first corse till he that died today, +‘This must be so.’ We pray you throw to earth +This unprevailing woe, and think of us +As of a father; for let the world take note +You are the most immediate to our throne, +And with no less nobility of love +Than that which dearest father bears his son +Do I impart toward you. For your intent +In going back to school in Wittenberg, +It is most retrograde to our desire: +And we beseech you bend you to remain +Here in the cheer and comfort of our eye, +Our chiefest courtier, cousin, and our son. + +QUEEN. +Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet. +I pray thee stay with us; go not to Wittenberg. + +HAMLET. +I shall in all my best obey you, madam. + +KING. +Why, ’tis a loving and a fair reply. +Be as ourself in Denmark. Madam, come; +This gentle and unforc’d accord of Hamlet +Sits smiling to my heart; in grace whereof, +No jocund health that Denmark drinks today +But the great cannon to the clouds shall tell, +And the King’s rouse the heaven shall bruit again, +Re-speaking earthly thunder. Come away. + +[_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] + +HAMLET. +O that this too too solid flesh would melt, +Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew! +Or that the Everlasting had not fix’d +His canon ’gainst self-slaughter. O God! O God! +How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable +Seem to me all the uses of this world! +Fie on’t! Oh fie! ’tis an unweeded garden +That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature +Possess it merely. That it should come to this! +But two months dead—nay, not so much, not two: +So excellent a king; that was to this +Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother, +That he might not beteem the winds of heaven +Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth! +Must I remember? Why, she would hang on him +As if increase of appetite had grown +By what it fed on; and yet, within a month— +Let me not think on’t—Frailty, thy name is woman! +A little month, or ere those shoes were old +With which she followed my poor father’s body +Like Niobe, all tears.—Why she, even she— +O God! A beast that wants discourse of reason +Would have mourn’d longer,—married with mine uncle, +My father’s brother; but no more like my father +Than I to Hercules. Within a month, +Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears +Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, +She married. O most wicked speed, to post +With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! +It is not, nor it cannot come to good. +But break, my heart, for I must hold my tongue. + +Enter Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo. + +HORATIO. +Hail to your lordship! + +HAMLET. +I am glad to see you well: +Horatio, or I do forget myself. + +HORATIO. +The same, my lord, +And your poor servant ever. + +HAMLET. +Sir, my good friend; +I’ll change that name with you: +And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio?— +Marcellus? + +MARCELLUS. +My good lord. + +HAMLET. +I am very glad to see you.—Good even, sir.— +But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg? + +HORATIO. +A truant disposition, good my lord. + +HAMLET. +I would not hear your enemy say so; +Nor shall you do my ear that violence, +To make it truster of your own report +Against yourself. I know you are no truant. +But what is your affair in Elsinore? +We’ll teach you to drink deep ere you depart. + +HORATIO. +My lord, I came to see your father’s funeral. + +HAMLET. +I prithee do not mock me, fellow-student. +I think it was to see my mother’s wedding. + +HORATIO. +Indeed, my lord, it follow’d hard upon. + +HAMLET. +Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral bak’d meats +Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. +Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven +Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio. +My father,—methinks I see my father. + +HORATIO. +Where, my lord? + +HAMLET. +In my mind’s eye, Horatio. + +HORATIO. +I saw him once; he was a goodly king. + +HAMLET. +He was a man, take him for all in all, +I shall not look upon his like again. + +HORATIO. +My lord, I think I saw him yesternight. + +HAMLET. +Saw? Who? + +HORATIO. +My lord, the King your father. + +HAMLET. +The King my father! + +HORATIO. +Season your admiration for a while +With an attent ear, till I may deliver +Upon the witness of these gentlemen +This marvel to you. + +HAMLET. +For God’s love let me hear. + +HORATIO. +Two nights together had these gentlemen, +Marcellus and Barnardo, on their watch +In the dead waste and middle of the night, +Been thus encounter’d. A figure like your father, +Armed at point exactly, cap-à-pie, +Appears before them, and with solemn march +Goes slow and stately by them: thrice he walk’d +By their oppress’d and fear-surprised eyes, +Within his truncheon’s length; whilst they, distill’d +Almost to jelly with the act of fear, +Stand dumb, and speak not to him. This to me +In dreadful secrecy impart they did, +And I with them the third night kept the watch, +Where, as they had deliver’d, both in time, +Form of the thing, each word made true and good, +The apparition comes. I knew your father; +These hands are not more like. + +HAMLET. +But where was this? + +MARCELLUS. +My lord, upon the platform where we watch. + +HAMLET. +Did you not speak to it? + +HORATIO. +My lord, I did; +But answer made it none: yet once methought +It lifted up it head, and did address +Itself to motion, like as it would speak. +But even then the morning cock crew loud, +And at the sound it shrunk in haste away, +And vanish’d from our sight. + +HAMLET. +’Tis very strange. + +HORATIO. +As I do live, my honour’d lord, ’tis true; +And we did think it writ down in our duty +To let you know of it. + +HAMLET. +Indeed, indeed, sirs, but this troubles me. +Hold you the watch tonight? + +MARCELLUS and BARNARDO. +We do, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Arm’d, say you? + +Both. +Arm’d, my lord. + +HAMLET. +From top to toe? + +BOTH. +My lord, from head to foot. + +HAMLET. +Then saw you not his face? + +HORATIO. +O yes, my lord, he wore his beaver up. + +HAMLET. +What, look’d he frowningly? + +HORATIO. +A countenance more in sorrow than in anger. + +HAMLET. +Pale, or red? + +HORATIO. +Nay, very pale. + +HAMLET. +And fix’d his eyes upon you? + +HORATIO. +Most constantly. + +HAMLET. +I would I had been there. + +HORATIO. +It would have much amaz’d you. + +HAMLET. +Very like, very like. Stay’d it long? + +HORATIO. +While one with moderate haste might tell a hundred. + +MARCELLUS and BARNARDO. +Longer, longer. + +HORATIO. +Not when I saw’t. + +HAMLET. +His beard was grizzled, no? + +HORATIO. +It was, as I have seen it in his life, +A sable silver’d. + +HAMLET. +I will watch tonight; +Perchance ’twill walk again. + +HORATIO. +I warrant you it will. + +HAMLET. +If it assume my noble father’s person, +I’ll speak to it, though hell itself should gape +And bid me hold my peace. I pray you all, +If you have hitherto conceal’d this sight, +Let it be tenable in your silence still; +And whatsoever else shall hap tonight, +Give it an understanding, but no tongue. +I will requite your loves. So, fare ye well. +Upon the platform ’twixt eleven and twelve, +I’ll visit you. + +ALL. +Our duty to your honour. + +HAMLET. +Your loves, as mine to you: farewell. + +[_Exeunt Horatio, Marcellus and Barnardo._] + +My father’s spirit in arms! All is not well; +I doubt some foul play: would the night were come! +Till then sit still, my soul: foul deeds will rise, +Though all the earth o’erwhelm them, to men’s eyes. + +[_Exit._] + + SCENE III. A room in Polonius’s house. + +Enter Laertes and Ophelia. + +LAERTES. +My necessaries are embark’d. Farewell. +And, sister, as the winds give benefit +And convoy is assistant, do not sleep, +But let me hear from you. + +OPHELIA. +Do you doubt that? + +LAERTES. +For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favour, +Hold it a fashion and a toy in blood; +A violet in the youth of primy nature, +Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting; +The perfume and suppliance of a minute; +No more. + +OPHELIA. +No more but so? + +LAERTES. +Think it no more. +For nature crescent does not grow alone +In thews and bulk; but as this temple waxes, +The inward service of the mind and soul +Grows wide withal. Perhaps he loves you now, +And now no soil nor cautel doth besmirch +The virtue of his will; but you must fear, +His greatness weigh’d, his will is not his own; +For he himself is subject to his birth: +He may not, as unvalu’d persons do, +Carve for himself; for on his choice depends +The sanctity and health of this whole state; +And therefore must his choice be circumscrib’d +Unto the voice and yielding of that body +Whereof he is the head. Then if he says he loves you, +It fits your wisdom so far to believe it +As he in his particular act and place +May give his saying deed; which is no further +Than the main voice of Denmark goes withal. +Then weigh what loss your honour may sustain +If with too credent ear you list his songs, +Or lose your heart, or your chaste treasure open +To his unmaster’d importunity. +Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; +And keep you in the rear of your affection, +Out of the shot and danger of desire. +The chariest maid is prodigal enough +If she unmask her beauty to the moon. +Virtue itself ’scapes not calumnious strokes: +The canker galls the infants of the spring +Too oft before their buttons be disclos’d, +And in the morn and liquid dew of youth +Contagious blastments are most imminent. +Be wary then, best safety lies in fear. +Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. + +OPHELIA. +I shall th’effect of this good lesson keep +As watchman to my heart. But good my brother, +Do not as some ungracious pastors do, +Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven; +Whilst like a puff’d and reckless libertine +Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads, +And recks not his own rede. + +LAERTES. +O, fear me not. +I stay too long. But here my father comes. + +Enter Polonius. + +A double blessing is a double grace; +Occasion smiles upon a second leave. + +POLONIUS. +Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame. +The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, +And you are stay’d for. There, my blessing with you. + +[_Laying his hand on Laertes’s head._] + +And these few precepts in thy memory +Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, +Nor any unproportion’d thought his act. +Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. +Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, +Grapple them unto thy soul with hoops of steel; +But do not dull thy palm with entertainment +Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade. Beware +Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in, +Bear’t that th’opposed may beware of thee. +Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: +Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgement. +Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, +But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy: +For the apparel oft proclaims the man; +And they in France of the best rank and station +Are of a most select and generous chief in that. +Neither a borrower nor a lender be: +For loan oft loses both itself and friend; +And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. +This above all: to thine own self be true; +And it must follow, as the night the day, +Thou canst not then be false to any man. +Farewell: my blessing season this in thee. + +LAERTES. +Most humbly do I take my leave, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +The time invites you; go, your servants tend. + +LAERTES. +Farewell, Ophelia, and remember well +What I have said to you. + +OPHELIA. +’Tis in my memory lock’d, +And you yourself shall keep the key of it. + +LAERTES. +Farewell. + +[_Exit._] + +POLONIUS. +What is’t, Ophelia, he hath said to you? + +OPHELIA. +So please you, something touching the Lord Hamlet. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, well bethought: +’Tis told me he hath very oft of late +Given private time to you; and you yourself +Have of your audience been most free and bounteous. +If it be so,—as so ’tis put on me, +And that in way of caution,—I must tell you +You do not understand yourself so clearly +As it behoves my daughter and your honour. +What is between you? Give me up the truth. + +OPHELIA. +He hath, my lord, of late made many tenders +Of his affection to me. + +POLONIUS. +Affection! Pooh! You speak like a green girl, +Unsifted in such perilous circumstance. +Do you believe his tenders, as you call them? + +OPHELIA. +I do not know, my lord, what I should think. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, I’ll teach you; think yourself a baby; +That you have ta’en these tenders for true pay, +Which are not sterling. Tender yourself more dearly; +Or,—not to crack the wind of the poor phrase, +Running it thus,—you’ll tender me a fool. + +OPHELIA. +My lord, he hath importun’d me with love +In honourable fashion. + +POLONIUS. +Ay, fashion you may call it; go to, go to. + +OPHELIA. +And hath given countenance to his speech, my lord, +With almost all the holy vows of heaven. + +POLONIUS. +Ay, springes to catch woodcocks. I do know, +When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul +Lends the tongue vows: these blazes, daughter, +Giving more light than heat, extinct in both, +Even in their promise, as it is a-making, +You must not take for fire. From this time +Be something scanter of your maiden presence; +Set your entreatments at a higher rate +Than a command to parley. For Lord Hamlet, +Believe so much in him that he is young; +And with a larger tether may he walk +Than may be given you. In few, Ophelia, +Do not believe his vows; for they are brokers, +Not of that dye which their investments show, +But mere implorators of unholy suits, +Breathing like sanctified and pious bawds, +The better to beguile. This is for all: +I would not, in plain terms, from this time forth +Have you so slander any moment leisure +As to give words or talk with the Lord Hamlet. +Look to’t, I charge you; come your ways. + +OPHELIA. +I shall obey, my lord. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE IV. The platform. + +Enter Hamlet, Horatio and Marcellus. + +HAMLET. +The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. + +HORATIO. +It is a nipping and an eager air. + +HAMLET. +What hour now? + +HORATIO. +I think it lacks of twelve. + +MARCELLUS. +No, it is struck. + +HORATIO. +Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near the season +Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. + +[_A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off within._] + +What does this mean, my lord? + +HAMLET. +The King doth wake tonight and takes his rouse, +Keeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring reels; +And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, +The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out +The triumph of his pledge. + +HORATIO. +Is it a custom? + +HAMLET. +Ay marry is’t; +And to my mind, though I am native here, +And to the manner born, it is a custom +More honour’d in the breach than the observance. +This heavy-headed revel east and west +Makes us traduc’d and tax’d of other nations: +They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase +Soil our addition; and indeed it takes +From our achievements, though perform’d at height, +The pith and marrow of our attribute. +So oft it chances in particular men +That for some vicious mole of nature in them, +As in their birth, wherein they are not guilty, +Since nature cannot choose his origin, +By their o’ergrowth of some complexion, +Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; +Or by some habit, that too much o’erleavens +The form of plausive manners;—that these men, +Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, +Being Nature’s livery or Fortune’s star,— +His virtues else,—be they as pure as grace, +As infinite as man may undergo, +Shall in the general censure take corruption +From that particular fault. The dram of evil +Doth all the noble substance of a doubt +To his own scandal. + +HORATIO. +Look, my lord, it comes! + +Enter Ghost. + +HAMLET. +Angels and ministers of grace defend us! +Be thou a spirit of health or goblin damn’d, +Bring with thee airs from heaven or blasts from hell, +Be thy intents wicked or charitable, +Thou com’st in such a questionable shape +That I will speak to thee. I’ll call thee Hamlet, +King, father, royal Dane. O, answer me! +Let me not burst in ignorance; but tell +Why thy canoniz’d bones, hearsed in death, +Have burst their cerements; why the sepulchre, +Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn’d, +Hath op’d his ponderous and marble jaws +To cast thee up again! What may this mean, +That thou, dead corse, again in complete steel, +Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon, +Making night hideous, and we fools of nature +So horridly to shake our disposition +With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? +Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do? + +[_Ghost beckons Hamlet._] + +HORATIO. +It beckons you to go away with it, +As if it some impartment did desire +To you alone. + +MARCELLUS. +Look with what courteous action +It waves you to a more removed ground. +But do not go with it. + +HORATIO. +No, by no means. + +HAMLET. +It will not speak; then will I follow it. + +HORATIO. +Do not, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Why, what should be the fear? +I do not set my life at a pin’s fee; +And for my soul, what can it do to that, +Being a thing immortal as itself? +It waves me forth again. I’ll follow it. + +HORATIO. +What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, +Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff +That beetles o’er his base into the sea, +And there assume some other horrible form +Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, +And draw you into madness? Think of it. +The very place puts toys of desperation, +Without more motive, into every brain +That looks so many fathoms to the sea +And hears it roar beneath. + +HAMLET. +It waves me still. +Go on, I’ll follow thee. + +MARCELLUS. +You shall not go, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Hold off your hands. + +HORATIO. +Be rul’d; you shall not go. + +HAMLET. +My fate cries out, +And makes each petty artery in this body +As hardy as the Nemean lion’s nerve. + +[_Ghost beckons._] + +Still am I call’d. Unhand me, gentlemen. + +[_Breaking free from them._] + +By heaven, I’ll make a ghost of him that lets me. +I say, away!—Go on, I’ll follow thee. + +[_Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet._] + +HORATIO. +He waxes desperate with imagination. + +MARCELLUS. +Let’s follow; ’tis not fit thus to obey him. + +HORATIO. +Have after. To what issue will this come? + +MARCELLUS. +Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. + +HORATIO. +Heaven will direct it. + +MARCELLUS. +Nay, let’s follow him. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE V. A more remote part of the Castle. + +Enter Ghost and Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Whither wilt thou lead me? Speak, I’ll go no further. + +GHOST. +Mark me. + +HAMLET. +I will. + +GHOST. +My hour is almost come, +When I to sulph’rous and tormenting flames +Must render up myself. + +HAMLET. +Alas, poor ghost! + +GHOST. +Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing +To what I shall unfold. + +HAMLET. +Speak, I am bound to hear. + +GHOST. +So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. + +HAMLET. +What? + +GHOST. +I am thy father’s spirit, +Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night, +And for the day confin’d to fast in fires, +Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature +Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbid +To tell the secrets of my prison-house, +I could a tale unfold whose lightest word +Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood, +Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres, +Thy knotted and combined locks to part, +And each particular hair to stand on end +Like quills upon the fretful porpentine. +But this eternal blazon must not be +To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! +If thou didst ever thy dear father love— + +HAMLET. +O God! + +GHOST. +Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. + +HAMLET. +Murder! + +GHOST. +Murder most foul, as in the best it is; +But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. + +HAMLET. +Haste me to know’t, that I, with wings as swift +As meditation or the thoughts of love +May sweep to my revenge. + +GHOST. +I find thee apt; +And duller shouldst thou be than the fat weed +That rots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, +Wouldst thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear. +’Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, +A serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark +Is by a forged process of my death +Rankly abus’d; but know, thou noble youth, +The serpent that did sting thy father’s life +Now wears his crown. + +HAMLET. +O my prophetic soul! +Mine uncle! + +GHOST. +Ay, that incestuous, that adulterate beast, +With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts,— +O wicked wit, and gifts, that have the power +So to seduce!—won to his shameful lust +The will of my most seeming-virtuous queen. +O Hamlet, what a falling off was there, +From me, whose love was of that dignity +That it went hand in hand even with the vow +I made to her in marriage; and to decline +Upon a wretch whose natural gifts were poor +To those of mine. But virtue, as it never will be mov’d, +Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven; +So lust, though to a radiant angel link’d, +Will sate itself in a celestial bed +And prey on garbage. +But soft! methinks I scent the morning air; +Brief let me be. Sleeping within my orchard, +My custom always of the afternoon, +Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole +With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, +And in the porches of my ears did pour +The leperous distilment, whose effect +Holds such an enmity with blood of man +That swift as quicksilver it courses through +The natural gates and alleys of the body; +And with a sudden vigour it doth posset +And curd, like eager droppings into milk, +The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine; +And a most instant tetter bark’d about, +Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust +All my smooth body. +Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother’s hand, +Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatch’d: +Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, +Unhous’led, disappointed, unanel’d; +No reckoning made, but sent to my account +With all my imperfections on my head. +O horrible! O horrible! most horrible! +If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not; +Let not the royal bed of Denmark be +A couch for luxury and damned incest. +But howsoever thou pursu’st this act, +Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive +Against thy mother aught; leave her to heaven, +And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, +To prick and sting her. Fare thee well at once! +The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, +And ’gins to pale his uneffectual fire. +Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me. + +[_Exit._] + +HAMLET. +O all you host of heaven! O earth! What else? +And shall I couple hell? O, fie! Hold, my heart; +And you, my sinews, grow not instant old, +But bear me stiffly up. Remember thee? +Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat +In this distracted globe. Remember thee? +Yea, from the table of my memory +I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records, +All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, +That youth and observation copied there; +And thy commandment all alone shall live +Within the book and volume of my brain, +Unmix’d with baser matter. Yes, by heaven! +O most pernicious woman! +O villain, villain, smiling damned villain! +My tables. Meet it is I set it down, +That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain! +At least I am sure it may be so in Denmark. + +[_Writing._] + +So, uncle, there you are. Now to my word; +It is ‘Adieu, adieu, remember me.’ +I have sworn’t. + +HORATIO and MARCELLUS. +[_Within._] My lord, my lord. + +MARCELLUS. +[_Within._] Lord Hamlet. + +HORATIO. +[_Within._] Heaven secure him. + +HAMLET. +So be it! + +MARCELLUS. +[_Within._] Illo, ho, ho, my lord! + +HAMLET. +Hillo, ho, ho, boy! Come, bird, come. + +Enter Horatio and Marcellus. + +MARCELLUS. +How is’t, my noble lord? + +HORATIO. +What news, my lord? + +HAMLET. +O, wonderful! + +HORATIO. +Good my lord, tell it. + +HAMLET. +No, you’ll reveal it. + +HORATIO. +Not I, my lord, by heaven. + +MARCELLUS. +Nor I, my lord. + +HAMLET. +How say you then, would heart of man once think it?— +But you’ll be secret? + +HORATIO and MARCELLUS. +Ay, by heaven, my lord. + +HAMLET. +There’s ne’er a villain dwelling in all Denmark +But he’s an arrant knave. + +HORATIO. +There needs no ghost, my lord, come from the grave +To tell us this. + +HAMLET. +Why, right; you are i’ the right; +And so, without more circumstance at all, +I hold it fit that we shake hands and part: +You, as your business and desire shall point you,— +For every man hath business and desire, +Such as it is;—and for my own poor part, +Look you, I’ll go pray. + +HORATIO. +These are but wild and whirling words, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I’m sorry they offend you, heartily; +Yes faith, heartily. + +HORATIO. +There’s no offence, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio, +And much offence too. Touching this vision here, +It is an honest ghost, that let me tell you. +For your desire to know what is between us, +O’ermaster’t as you may. And now, good friends, +As you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, +Give me one poor request. + +HORATIO. +What is’t, my lord? We will. + +HAMLET. +Never make known what you have seen tonight. + +HORATIO and MARCELLUS. +My lord, we will not. + +HAMLET. +Nay, but swear’t. + +HORATIO. +In faith, my lord, not I. + +MARCELLUS. +Nor I, my lord, in faith. + +HAMLET. +Upon my sword. + +MARCELLUS. +We have sworn, my lord, already. + +HAMLET. +Indeed, upon my sword, indeed. + +GHOST. +[_Cries under the stage._] Swear. + +HAMLET. +Ha, ha boy, sayst thou so? Art thou there, truepenny? +Come on, you hear this fellow in the cellarage. +Consent to swear. + +HORATIO. +Propose the oath, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Never to speak of this that you have seen. +Swear by my sword. + +GHOST. +[_Beneath._] Swear. + +HAMLET. +_Hic et ubique?_ Then we’ll shift our ground. +Come hither, gentlemen, +And lay your hands again upon my sword. +Never to speak of this that you have heard. +Swear by my sword. + +GHOST. +[_Beneath._] Swear. + +HAMLET. +Well said, old mole! Canst work i’ th’earth so fast? +A worthy pioner! Once more remove, good friends. + +HORATIO. +O day and night, but this is wondrous strange. + +HAMLET. +And therefore as a stranger give it welcome. +There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, +Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. But come, +Here, as before, never, so help you mercy, +How strange or odd soe’er I bear myself,— +As I perchance hereafter shall think meet +To put an antic disposition on— +That you, at such times seeing me, never shall, +With arms encumber’d thus, or this head-shake, +Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, +As ‘Well, we know’, or ‘We could and if we would’, +Or ‘If we list to speak’; or ‘There be and if they might’, +Or such ambiguous giving out, to note +That you know aught of me:—this not to do. +So grace and mercy at your most need help you, +Swear. + +GHOST. +[_Beneath._] Swear. + +HAMLET. +Rest, rest, perturbed spirit. So, gentlemen, +With all my love I do commend me to you; +And what so poor a man as Hamlet is +May do t’express his love and friending to you, +God willing, shall not lack. Let us go in together, +And still your fingers on your lips, I pray. +The time is out of joint. O cursed spite, +That ever I was born to set it right. +Nay, come, let’s go together. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + +SCENE I. A room in Polonius’s house. + + +Enter Polonius and Reynaldo. + +POLONIUS. +Give him this money and these notes, Reynaldo. + +REYNALDO. +I will, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +You shall do marvellous wisely, good Reynaldo, +Before you visit him, to make inquiry +Of his behaviour. + +REYNALDO. +My lord, I did intend it. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, well said; very well said. Look you, sir, +Enquire me first what Danskers are in Paris; +And how, and who, what means, and where they keep, +What company, at what expense; and finding +By this encompassment and drift of question, +That they do know my son, come you more nearer +Than your particular demands will touch it. +Take you as ’twere some distant knowledge of him, +As thus, ‘I know his father and his friends, +And in part him’—do you mark this, Reynaldo? + +REYNALDO. +Ay, very well, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +‘And in part him, but,’ you may say, ‘not well; +But if’t be he I mean, he’s very wild; +Addicted so and so;’ and there put on him +What forgeries you please; marry, none so rank +As may dishonour him; take heed of that; +But, sir, such wanton, wild, and usual slips +As are companions noted and most known +To youth and liberty. + +REYNALDO. +As gaming, my lord? + +POLONIUS. +Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, +Quarrelling, drabbing. You may go so far. + +REYNALDO. +My lord, that would dishonour him. + +POLONIUS. +Faith no, as you may season it in the charge. +You must not put another scandal on him, +That he is open to incontinency; +That’s not my meaning: but breathe his faults so quaintly +That they may seem the taints of liberty; +The flash and outbreak of a fiery mind, +A savageness in unreclaimed blood, +Of general assault. + +REYNALDO. +But my good lord— + +POLONIUS. +Wherefore should you do this? + +REYNALDO. +Ay, my lord, I would know that. + +POLONIUS. +Marry, sir, here’s my drift, +And I believe it is a fetch of warrant. +You laying these slight sullies on my son, +As ’twere a thing a little soil’d i’ th’ working, +Mark you, +Your party in converse, him you would sound, +Having ever seen in the prenominate crimes +The youth you breathe of guilty, be assur’d +He closes with you in this consequence; +‘Good sir,’ or so; or ‘friend,’ or ‘gentleman’— +According to the phrase or the addition +Of man and country. + +REYNALDO. +Very good, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +And then, sir, does he this,— +He does—What was I about to say? +By the mass, I was about to say something. Where did I leave? + +REYNALDO. +At ‘closes in the consequence.’ +At ‘friend or so,’ and ‘gentleman.’ + +POLONIUS. +At ‘closes in the consequence’ ay, marry! +He closes with you thus: ‘I know the gentleman, +I saw him yesterday, or t’other day, +Or then, or then, with such and such; and, as you say, +There was he gaming, there o’ertook in’s rouse, +There falling out at tennis’: or perchance, +‘I saw him enter such a house of sale’— +_Videlicet_, a brothel, or so forth. See you now; +Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth; +And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, +With windlasses, and with assays of bias, +By indirections find directions out. +So by my former lecture and advice +Shall you my son. You have me, have you not? + +REYNALDO. +My lord, I have. + +POLONIUS. +God b’ wi’ you, fare you well. + +REYNALDO. +Good my lord. + +POLONIUS. +Observe his inclination in yourself. + +REYNALDO. +I shall, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +And let him ply his music. + +REYNALDO. +Well, my lord. + +POLONIUS. +Farewell. + +[_Exit Reynaldo._] + +Enter Ophelia. + +How now, Ophelia, what’s the matter? + +OPHELIA. +Alas, my lord, I have been so affrighted. + +POLONIUS. +With what, in the name of God? + +OPHELIA. +My lord, as I was sewing in my chamber, +Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac’d, +No hat upon his head, his stockings foul’d, +Ungart’red, and down-gyved to his ankle, +Pale as his shirt, his knees knocking each other, +And with a look so piteous in purport +As if he had been loosed out of hell +To speak of horrors, he comes before me. + +POLONIUS. +Mad for thy love? + +OPHELIA. +My lord, I do not know, but truly I do fear it. + +POLONIUS. +What said he? + +OPHELIA. +He took me by the wrist and held me hard; +Then goes he to the length of all his arm; +And with his other hand thus o’er his brow, +He falls to such perusal of my face +As he would draw it. Long stay’d he so, +At last,—a little shaking of mine arm, +And thrice his head thus waving up and down, +He rais’d a sigh so piteous and profound +As it did seem to shatter all his bulk +And end his being. That done, he lets me go, +And with his head over his shoulder turn’d +He seem’d to find his way without his eyes, +For out o’ doors he went without their help, +And to the last bended their light on me. + +POLONIUS. +Come, go with me. I will go seek the King. +This is the very ecstasy of love, +Whose violent property fordoes itself, +And leads the will to desperate undertakings, +As oft as any passion under heaven +That does afflict our natures. I am sorry,— +What, have you given him any hard words of late? + +OPHELIA. +No, my good lord; but as you did command, +I did repel his letters and denied +His access to me. + +POLONIUS. +That hath made him mad. +I am sorry that with better heed and judgement +I had not quoted him. I fear’d he did but trifle, +And meant to wreck thee. But beshrew my jealousy! +It seems it is as proper to our age +To cast beyond ourselves in our opinions +As it is common for the younger sort +To lack discretion. Come, go we to the King. +This must be known, which, being kept close, might move +More grief to hide than hate to utter love. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE II. A room in the Castle. + +Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and Attendants. + +KING. +Welcome, dear Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. +Moreover that we much did long to see you, +The need we have to use you did provoke +Our hasty sending. Something have you heard +Of Hamlet’s transformation; so I call it, +Since nor th’exterior nor the inward man +Resembles that it was. What it should be, +More than his father’s death, that thus hath put him +So much from th’understanding of himself, +I cannot dream of. I entreat you both +That, being of so young days brought up with him, +And since so neighbour’d to his youth and humour, +That you vouchsafe your rest here in our court +Some little time, so by your companies +To draw him on to pleasures and to gather, +So much as from occasion you may glean, +Whether aught to us unknown afflicts him thus +That, open’d, lies within our remedy. + +QUEEN. +Good gentlemen, he hath much talk’d of you, +And sure I am, two men there are not living +To whom he more adheres. If it will please you +To show us so much gentry and good will +As to expend your time with us awhile, +For the supply and profit of our hope, +Your visitation shall receive such thanks +As fits a king’s remembrance. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Both your majesties +Might, by the sovereign power you have of us, +Put your dread pleasures more into command +Than to entreaty. + +GUILDENSTERN. +We both obey, +And here give up ourselves, in the full bent, +To lay our service freely at your feet +To be commanded. + +KING. +Thanks, Rosencrantz and gentle Guildenstern. + +QUEEN. +Thanks, Guildenstern and gentle Rosencrantz. +And I beseech you instantly to visit +My too much changed son. Go, some of you, +And bring these gentlemen where Hamlet is. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Heavens make our presence and our practices +Pleasant and helpful to him. + +QUEEN. +Ay, amen. + +[_Exeunt Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and some Attendants._] + +Enter Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +Th’ambassadors from Norway, my good lord, +Are joyfully return’d. + +KING. +Thou still hast been the father of good news. + +POLONIUS. +Have I, my lord? Assure you, my good liege, +I hold my duty, as I hold my soul, +Both to my God and to my gracious King: +And I do think,—or else this brain of mine +Hunts not the trail of policy so sure +As it hath us’d to do—that I have found +The very cause of Hamlet’s lunacy. + +KING. +O speak of that, that do I long to hear. + +POLONIUS. +Give first admittance to th’ambassadors; +My news shall be the fruit to that great feast. + +KING. +Thyself do grace to them, and bring them in. + +[_Exit Polonius._] + +He tells me, my sweet queen, that he hath found +The head and source of all your son’s distemper. + +QUEEN. +I doubt it is no other but the main, +His father’s death and our o’erhasty marriage. + +KING. +Well, we shall sift him. + +Enter Polonius with Voltemand and Cornelius. + +Welcome, my good friends! +Say, Voltemand, what from our brother Norway? + +VOLTEMAND. +Most fair return of greetings and desires. +Upon our first, he sent out to suppress +His nephew’s levies, which to him appear’d +To be a preparation ’gainst the Polack; +But better look’d into, he truly found +It was against your Highness; whereat griev’d, +That so his sickness, age, and impotence +Was falsely borne in hand, sends out arrests +On Fortinbras; which he, in brief, obeys, +Receives rebuke from Norway; and in fine, +Makes vow before his uncle never more +To give th’assay of arms against your Majesty. +Whereon old Norway, overcome with joy, +Gives him three thousand crowns in annual fee, +And his commission to employ those soldiers +So levied as before, against the Polack: +With an entreaty, herein further shown, +[_Gives a paper._] +That it might please you to give quiet pass +Through your dominions for this enterprise, +On such regards of safety and allowance +As therein are set down. + +KING. +It likes us well; +And at our more consider’d time we’ll read, +Answer, and think upon this business. +Meantime we thank you for your well-took labour. +Go to your rest, at night we’ll feast together:. +Most welcome home. + +[_Exeunt Voltemand and Cornelius._] + +POLONIUS. +This business is well ended. +My liege and madam, to expostulate +What majesty should be, what duty is, +Why day is day, night night, and time is time +Were nothing but to waste night, day and time. +Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, +And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes, +I will be brief. Your noble son is mad. +Mad call I it; for to define true madness, +What is’t but to be nothing else but mad? +But let that go. + +QUEEN. +More matter, with less art. + +POLONIUS. +Madam, I swear I use no art at all. +That he is mad, ’tis true: ’tis true ’tis pity; +And pity ’tis ’tis true. A foolish figure, +But farewell it, for I will use no art. +Mad let us grant him then. And now remains +That we find out the cause of this effect, +Or rather say, the cause of this defect, +For this effect defective comes by cause. +Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend, +I have a daughter—have whilst she is mine— +Who in her duty and obedience, mark, +Hath given me this. Now gather, and surmise. +[_Reads._] +_To the celestial, and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia_— +That’s an ill phrase, a vile phrase; ‘beautified’ is a vile +phrase: but you shall hear. +[_Reads._] +_these; in her excellent white bosom, these, &c._ + +QUEEN. +Came this from Hamlet to her? + +POLONIUS. +Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful. +[_Reads._] + _Doubt thou the stars are fire, + Doubt that the sun doth move, + Doubt truth to be a liar, + But never doubt I love. +O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers. I have not art to reckon my +groans. But that I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu. + Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, + HAMLET._ +This in obedience hath my daughter show’d me; +And more above, hath his solicitings, +As they fell out by time, by means, and place, +All given to mine ear. + +KING. +But how hath she receiv’d his love? + +POLONIUS. +What do you think of me? + +KING. +As of a man faithful and honourable. + +POLONIUS. +I would fain prove so. But what might you think, +When I had seen this hot love on the wing, +As I perceiv’d it, I must tell you that, +Before my daughter told me, what might you, +Or my dear Majesty your queen here, think, +If I had play’d the desk or table-book, +Or given my heart a winking, mute and dumb, +Or look’d upon this love with idle sight, +What might you think? No, I went round to work, +And my young mistress thus I did bespeak: +‘Lord Hamlet is a prince, out of thy star. +This must not be.’ And then I precepts gave her, +That she should lock herself from his resort, +Admit no messengers, receive no tokens. +Which done, she took the fruits of my advice, +And he, repulsed,—a short tale to make— +Fell into a sadness, then into a fast, +Thence to a watch, thence into a weakness, +Thence to a lightness, and, by this declension, +Into the madness wherein now he raves, +And all we wail for. + +KING. +Do you think ’tis this? + +QUEEN. +It may be, very likely. + +POLONIUS. +Hath there been such a time, I’d fain know that, +That I have positively said ‘’Tis so,’ +When it prov’d otherwise? + +KING. +Not that I know. + +POLONIUS. +Take this from this, if this be otherwise. +[_Points to his head and shoulder._] +If circumstances lead me, I will find +Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed +Within the centre. + +KING. +How may we try it further? + +POLONIUS. +You know sometimes he walks four hours together +Here in the lobby. + +QUEEN. +So he does indeed. + +POLONIUS. +At such a time I’ll loose my daughter to him. +Be you and I behind an arras then, +Mark the encounter. If he love her not, +And be not from his reason fall’n thereon, +Let me be no assistant for a state, +But keep a farm and carters. + +KING. +We will try it. + +Enter Hamlet, reading. + +QUEEN. +But look where sadly the poor wretch comes reading. + +POLONIUS. +Away, I do beseech you, both away +I’ll board him presently. O, give me leave. + +[_Exeunt King, Queen and Attendants._] + +How does my good Lord Hamlet? + +HAMLET. +Well, God-a-mercy. + +POLONIUS. +Do you know me, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Excellent well. You are a fishmonger. + +POLONIUS. +Not I, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Then I would you were so honest a man. + +POLONIUS. +Honest, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Ay sir, to be honest, as this world goes, is to be one man picked out +of ten thousand. + +POLONIUS. +That’s very true, my lord. + +HAMLET. +For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a good kissing +carrion,— +Have you a daughter? + +POLONIUS. +I have, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Let her not walk i’ th’ sun. Conception is a blessing, but not as your +daughter may conceive. Friend, look to’t. + +POLONIUS. +How say you by that? [_Aside._] Still harping on my daughter. Yet he +knew me not at first; he said I was a fishmonger. He is far gone, far +gone. And truly in my youth I suffered much extremity for love; very +near this. I’ll speak to him again.—What do you read, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Words, words, words. + +POLONIUS. +What is the matter, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Between who? + +POLONIUS. +I mean the matter that you read, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Slanders, sir. For the satirical slave says here that old men have grey +beards; that their faces are wrinkled; their eyes purging thick amber +and plum-tree gum; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together +with most weak hams. All which, sir, though I most powerfully and +potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down. +For you yourself, sir, should be old as I am, if like a crab you could +go backward. + +POLONIUS. +[_Aside._] Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.— +Will you walk out of the air, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Into my grave? + +POLONIUS. +Indeed, that is out o’ the air. [_Aside._] How pregnant sometimes his +replies are! A happiness that often madness hits on, which reason and +sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of. I will leave him and +suddenly contrive the means of meeting between him and my daughter. +My honourable lord, I will most humbly take my leave of you. + +HAMLET. +You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part +withal, except my life, except my life, except my life. + +POLONIUS. +Fare you well, my lord. + +HAMLET. +These tedious old fools. + +Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +POLONIUS. +You go to seek the Lord Hamlet; there he is. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +[_To Polonius._] God save you, sir. + +[_Exit Polonius._] + +GUILDENSTERN. +My honoured lord! + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My most dear lord! + +HAMLET. +My excellent good friends! How dost thou, Guildenstern? Ah, +Rosencrantz. Good lads, how do ye both? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +As the indifferent children of the earth. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Happy in that we are not over-happy; +On Fortune’s cap we are not the very button. + +HAMLET. +Nor the soles of her shoe? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Neither, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Then you live about her waist, or in the middle of her favours? + +GUILDENSTERN. +Faith, her privates we. + +HAMLET. +In the secret parts of Fortune? O, most true; she is a strumpet. What’s +the news? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest. + +HAMLET. +Then is doomsday near. But your news is not true. Let me question more +in particular. What have you, my good friends, deserved at the hands of +Fortune, that she sends you to prison hither? + +GUILDENSTERN. +Prison, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Denmark’s a prison. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Then is the world one. + +HAMLET. +A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards, and dungeons, +Denmark being one o’ th’ worst. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +We think not so, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Why, then ’tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but +thinking makes it so. To me it is a prison. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Why, then your ambition makes it one; ’tis too narrow for your mind. + +HAMLET. +O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of +infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Which dreams, indeed, are ambition; for the very substance of the +ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. + +HAMLET. +A dream itself is but a shadow. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is +but a shadow’s shadow. + +HAMLET. +Then are our beggars bodies, and our monarchs and outstretch’d heroes +the beggars’ shadows. Shall we to th’ court? For, by my fay, I cannot +reason. + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +We’ll wait upon you. + +HAMLET. +No such matter. I will not sort you with the rest of my servants; for, +to speak to you like an honest man, I am most dreadfully attended. But, +in the beaten way of friendship, what make you at Elsinore? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +To visit you, my lord, no other occasion. + +HAMLET. +Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks; but I thank you. And sure, +dear friends, my thanks are too dear a halfpenny. Were you not sent +for? Is it your own inclining? Is it a free visitation? Come, deal +justly with me. Come, come; nay, speak. + +GUILDENSTERN. +What should we say, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Why, anything. But to the purpose. You were sent for; and there is a +kind of confession in your looks, which your modesties have not craft +enough to colour. I know the good King and Queen have sent for you. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +To what end, my lord? + +HAMLET. +That you must teach me. But let me conjure you, by the rights of our +fellowship, by the consonancy of our youth, by the obligation of our +ever-preserved love, and by what more dear a better proposer could +charge you withal, be even and direct with me, whether you were sent +for or no. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +[_To Guildenstern._] What say you? + +HAMLET. +[_Aside._] Nay, then I have an eye of you. If you love me, hold not +off. + +GUILDENSTERN. +My lord, we were sent for. + +HAMLET. +I will tell you why; so shall my anticipation prevent your discovery, +and your secrecy to the King and Queen moult no feather. I have of +late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth, forgone all custom +of exercises; and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that +this goodly frame the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this +most excellent canopy the air, look you, this brave o’erhanging +firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it +appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of +vapours. What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite +in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable; in action +how like an angel, in apprehension, how like a god: the beauty of the +world, the paragon of animals. And yet, to me, what is this +quintessence of dust? Man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, +though by your smiling you seem to say so. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. + +HAMLET. +Why did you laugh then, when I said ‘Man delights not me’? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what Lenten entertainment +the players shall receive from you. We coted them on the way, and +hither are they coming to offer you service. + +HAMLET. +He that plays the king shall be welcome,—his Majesty shall have tribute +of me; the adventurous knight shall use his foil and target; the lover +shall not sigh gratis, the humorous man shall end his part in peace; +the clown shall make those laugh whose lungs are tickle o’ th’ sere; +and the lady shall say her mind freely, or the blank verse shall halt +for’t. What players are they? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Even those you were wont to take such delight in—the tragedians of the +city. + +HAMLET. +How chances it they travel? Their residence, both in reputation and +profit, was better both ways. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +I think their inhibition comes by the means of the late innovation. + +HAMLET. +Do they hold the same estimation they did when I was in the city? Are +they so followed? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +No, indeed, they are not. + +HAMLET. +How comes it? Do they grow rusty? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Nay, their endeavour keeps in the wonted pace; but there is, sir, an +aerie of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, +and are most tyrannically clapped for’t. These are now the fashion, and +so berattle the common stages—so they call them—that many wearing +rapiers are afraid of goose-quills and dare scarce come thither. + +HAMLET. +What, are they children? Who maintains ’em? How are they escoted? Will +they pursue the quality no longer than they can sing? Will they not say +afterwards, if they should grow themselves to common players—as it is +most like, if their means are no better—their writers do them wrong to +make them exclaim against their own succession? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Faith, there has been much to do on both sides; and the nation holds it +no sin to tarre them to controversy. There was for a while, no money +bid for argument unless the poet and the player went to cuffs in the +question. + +HAMLET. +Is’t possible? + +GUILDENSTERN. +O, there has been much throwing about of brains. + +HAMLET. +Do the boys carry it away? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Ay, that they do, my lord. Hercules and his load too. + +HAMLET. +It is not very strange; for my uncle is King of Denmark, and those that +would make mouths at him while my father lived, give twenty, forty, +fifty, a hundred ducats apiece for his picture in little. ’Sblood, +there is something in this more than natural, if philosophy could find +it out. + +[_Flourish of trumpets within._] + +GUILDENSTERN. +There are the players. + +HAMLET. +Gentlemen, you are welcome to Elsinore. Your hands, come. The +appurtenance of welcome is fashion and ceremony. Let me comply with you +in this garb, lest my extent to the players, which I tell you must show +fairly outward, should more appear like entertainment than yours. You +are welcome. But my uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived. + +GUILDENSTERN. +In what, my dear lord? + +HAMLET. +I am but mad north-north-west. When the wind is southerly, I know a +hawk from a handsaw. + +Enter Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +Well be with you, gentlemen. + +HAMLET. +Hark you, Guildenstern, and you too, at each ear a hearer. That great +baby you see there is not yet out of his swaddling clouts. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Happily he’s the second time come to them; for they say an old man is +twice a child. + +HAMLET. +I will prophesy he comes to tell me of the players. Mark it.—You say +right, sir: for a Monday morning ’twas so indeed. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, I have news to tell you. + +HAMLET. +My lord, I have news to tell you. When Roscius was an actor in Rome— + +POLONIUS. +The actors are come hither, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Buzz, buzz. + +POLONIUS. +Upon my honour. + +HAMLET. +Then came each actor on his ass— + +POLONIUS. +The best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, +pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, +tragical-comical-historical-pastoral, scene individable, or poem +unlimited. Seneca cannot be too heavy, nor Plautus too light, for the +law of writ and the liberty. These are the only men. + +HAMLET. +O Jephthah, judge of Israel, what a treasure hadst thou! + +POLONIUS. +What treasure had he, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Why— + ’One fair daughter, and no more, + The which he loved passing well.’ + +POLONIUS. +[_Aside._] Still on my daughter. + +HAMLET. +Am I not i’ th’ right, old Jephthah? + +POLONIUS. +If you call me Jephthah, my lord, I have a daughter that I love passing +well. + +HAMLET. +Nay, that follows not. + +POLONIUS. +What follows then, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Why, + As by lot, God wot, +and then, you know, + It came to pass, as most like it was. +The first row of the pious chanson will show you more. For look where +my abridgement comes. + +Enter four or five Players. + +You are welcome, masters, welcome all. I am glad to see thee well. +Welcome, good friends. O, my old friend! Thy face is valanc’d since I +saw thee last. Com’st thou to beard me in Denmark? What, my young lady +and mistress! By’r lady, your ladyship is nearer to heaven than when I +saw you last, by the altitude of a chopine. Pray God your voice, like a +piece of uncurrent gold, be not cracked within the ring. Masters, you +are all welcome. We’ll e’en to’t like French falconers, fly at anything +we see. We’ll have a speech straight. Come, give us a taste of your +quality. Come, a passionate speech. + +FIRST PLAYER. +What speech, my lord? + +HAMLET. +I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted, or if it +was, not above once, for the play, I remember, pleased not the million, +’twas caviare to the general. But it was—as I received it, and others, +whose judgements in such matters cried in the top of mine—an excellent +play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as +cunning. I remember one said there were no sallets in the lines to make +the matter savoury, nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the +author of affectation, but called it an honest method, as wholesome as +sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. One speech in it, I +chiefly loved. ’Twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido, and thereabout of it +especially where he speaks of Priam’s slaughter. If it live in your +memory, begin at this line, let me see, let me see: + _The rugged Pyrrhus, like th’ Hyrcanian beast,—_ +It is not so: it begins with Pyrrhus— + _The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, + Black as his purpose, did the night resemble + When he lay couched in the ominous horse, + Hath now this dread and black complexion smear’d + With heraldry more dismal. Head to foot + Now is he total gules, horridly trick’d + With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, + Bak’d and impasted with the parching streets, + That lend a tyrannous and a damned light + To their vile murders. Roasted in wrath and fire, + And thus o’ersized with coagulate gore, + With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus + Old grandsire Priam seeks._ +So, proceed you. + +POLONIUS. +’Fore God, my lord, well spoken, with good accent and good discretion. + +FIRST PLAYER. + _Anon he finds him, + Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword, + Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls, + Repugnant to command. Unequal match’d, + Pyrrhus at Priam drives, in rage strikes wide; + But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword + Th’unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium, + Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top + Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash + Takes prisoner Pyrrhus’ ear. For lo, his sword, + Which was declining on the milky head + Of reverend Priam, seem’d i’ th’air to stick. + So, as a painted tyrant, Pyrrhus stood, + And like a neutral to his will and matter, + Did nothing. + But as we often see against some storm, + A silence in the heavens, the rack stand still, + The bold winds speechless, and the orb below + As hush as death, anon the dreadful thunder + Doth rend the region; so after Pyrrhus’ pause, + Aroused vengeance sets him new a-work, + And never did the Cyclops’ hammers fall + On Mars’s armour, forg’d for proof eterne, + With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword + Now falls on Priam. + Out, out, thou strumpet Fortune! All you gods, + In general synod, take away her power; + Break all the spokes and fellies from her wheel, + And bowl the round nave down the hill of heaven, + As low as to the fiends._ + +POLONIUS. +This is too long. + +HAMLET. +It shall to the barber’s, with your beard.—Prithee say on. +He’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. +Say on; come to Hecuba. + +FIRST PLAYER. + _But who, O who, had seen the mobled queen,—_ + +HAMLET. +‘The mobled queen’? + +POLONIUS. +That’s good! ‘Mobled queen’ is good. + +FIRST PLAYER. + _Run barefoot up and down, threat’ning the flames + With bisson rheum. A clout upon that head + Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe, + About her lank and all o’erteemed loins, + A blanket, in th’alarm of fear caught up— + Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep’d, + ’Gainst Fortune’s state would treason have pronounc’d. + But if the gods themselves did see her then, + When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport + In mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs, + The instant burst of clamour that she made,— + Unless things mortal move them not at all,— + Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven, + And passion in the gods._ + +POLONIUS. +Look, where he has not turn’d his colour, and has tears in’s eyes. Pray +you, no more. + +HAMLET. +’Tis well. I’ll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.—Good my +lord, will you see the players well bestowed? Do you hear, let them be +well used; for they are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time. +After your death you were better have a bad epitaph than their ill +report while you live. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, I will use them according to their desert. + +HAMLET. +God’s bodikin, man, much better. Use every man after his desert, and who +should ’scape whipping? Use them after your own honour and dignity. The +less they deserve, the more merit is in your bounty. Take them in. + +POLONIUS. +Come, sirs. + +HAMLET. +Follow him, friends. We’ll hear a play tomorrow. + +[_Exeunt Polonius with all the Players but the First._] + +Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play _The Murder of Gonzago_? + +FIRST PLAYER. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +We’ll ha’t tomorrow night. You could for a need study a speech of some +dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down and insert in’t, could +you not? + +FIRST PLAYER. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Very well. Follow that lord, and look you mock him not. + +[_Exit First Player._] + +[_To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern_] My good friends, I’ll leave you +till night. You are welcome to Elsinore. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Good my lord. + +[_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +HAMLET. +Ay, so, God b’ wi’ ye. Now I am alone. +O what a rogue and peasant slave am I! +Is it not monstrous that this player here, +But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, +Could force his soul so to his own conceit +That from her working all his visage wan’d; +Tears in his eyes, distraction in’s aspect, +A broken voice, and his whole function suiting +With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing! +For Hecuba? +What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, +That he should weep for her? What would he do, +Had he the motive and the cue for passion +That I have? He would drown the stage with tears +And cleave the general ear with horrid speech; +Make mad the guilty, and appal the free, +Confound the ignorant, and amaze indeed, +The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I, +A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak +Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, +And can say nothing. No, not for a king +Upon whose property and most dear life +A damn’d defeat was made. Am I a coward? +Who calls me villain, breaks my pate across? +Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? +Tweaks me by the nose, gives me the lie i’ th’ throat +As deep as to the lungs? Who does me this? +Ha! ’Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be +But I am pigeon-liver’d, and lack gall +To make oppression bitter, or ere this +I should have fatted all the region kites +With this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain! +Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain! +Oh vengeance! +Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, +That I, the son of a dear father murder’d, +Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, +Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words +And fall a-cursing like a very drab, +A scullion! Fie upon’t! Foh! +About, my brain! I have heard +That guilty creatures sitting at a play, +Have by the very cunning of the scene, +Been struck so to the soul that presently +They have proclaim’d their malefactions. +For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak +With most miraculous organ. I’ll have these players +Play something like the murder of my father +Before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks; +I’ll tent him to the quick. If he but blench, +I know my course. The spirit that I have seen +May be the devil, and the devil hath power +T’assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps +Out of my weakness and my melancholy, +As he is very potent with such spirits, +Abuses me to damn me. I’ll have grounds +More relative than this. The play’s the thing +Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT III + +SCENE I. A room in the Castle. + + +Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +KING. +And can you by no drift of circumstance +Get from him why he puts on this confusion, +Grating so harshly all his days of quiet +With turbulent and dangerous lunacy? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +He does confess he feels himself distracted, +But from what cause he will by no means speak. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Nor do we find him forward to be sounded, +But with a crafty madness keeps aloof +When we would bring him on to some confession +Of his true state. + +QUEEN. +Did he receive you well? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Most like a gentleman. + +GUILDENSTERN. +But with much forcing of his disposition. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Niggard of question, but of our demands, +Most free in his reply. + +QUEEN. +Did you assay him to any pastime? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Madam, it so fell out that certain players +We o’er-raught on the way. Of these we told him, +And there did seem in him a kind of joy +To hear of it. They are about the court, +And, as I think, they have already order +This night to play before him. + +POLONIUS. +’Tis most true; +And he beseech’d me to entreat your Majesties +To hear and see the matter. + +KING. +With all my heart; and it doth much content me +To hear him so inclin’d. +Good gentlemen, give him a further edge, +And drive his purpose on to these delights. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +We shall, my lord. + +[_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +KING. +Sweet Gertrude, leave us too, +For we have closely sent for Hamlet hither, +That he, as ’twere by accident, may here +Affront Ophelia. +Her father and myself, lawful espials, +Will so bestow ourselves that, seeing unseen, +We may of their encounter frankly judge, +And gather by him, as he is behav’d, +If’t be th’affliction of his love or no +That thus he suffers for. + +QUEEN. +I shall obey you. +And for your part, Ophelia, I do wish +That your good beauties be the happy cause +Of Hamlet’s wildness: so shall I hope your virtues +Will bring him to his wonted way again, +To both your honours. + +OPHELIA. +Madam, I wish it may. + +[_Exit Queen._] + +POLONIUS. +Ophelia, walk you here.—Gracious, so please you, +We will bestow ourselves.—[_To Ophelia._] Read on this book, +That show of such an exercise may colour +Your loneliness.—We are oft to blame in this, +’Tis too much prov’d, that with devotion’s visage +And pious action we do sugar o’er +The devil himself. + +KING. +[_Aside._] O ’tis too true! +How smart a lash that speech doth give my conscience! +The harlot’s cheek, beautied with plastering art, +Is not more ugly to the thing that helps it +Than is my deed to my most painted word. +O heavy burden! + +POLONIUS. +I hear him coming. Let’s withdraw, my lord. + +[_Exeunt King and Polonius._] + +Enter Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +To be, or not to be, that is the question: +Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer +The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, +Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, +And by opposing end them? To die—to sleep, +No more; and by a sleep to say we end +The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks +That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation +Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep. +To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub, +For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, +When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, +Must give us pause. There’s the respect +That makes calamity of so long life. +For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, +The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely, +The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay, +The insolence of office, and the spurns +That patient merit of the unworthy takes, +When he himself might his quietus make +With a bare bodkin? Who would these fardels bear, +To grunt and sweat under a weary life, +But that the dread of something after death, +The undiscover’d country, from whose bourn +No traveller returns, puzzles the will, +And makes us rather bear those ills we have +Than fly to others that we know not of? +Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, +And thus the native hue of resolution +Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, +And enterprises of great pith and moment, +With this regard their currents turn awry +And lose the name of action. Soft you now, +The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons +Be all my sins remember’d. + +OPHELIA. +Good my lord, +How does your honour for this many a day? + +HAMLET. +I humbly thank you; well, well, well. + +OPHELIA. +My lord, I have remembrances of yours +That I have longed long to re-deliver. +I pray you, now receive them. + +HAMLET. +No, not I. +I never gave you aught. + +OPHELIA. +My honour’d lord, you know right well you did, +And with them words of so sweet breath compos’d +As made the things more rich; their perfume lost, +Take these again; for to the noble mind +Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind. +There, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Ha, ha! Are you honest? + +OPHELIA. +My lord? + +HAMLET. +Are you fair? + +OPHELIA. +What means your lordship? + +HAMLET. +That if you be honest and fair, your honesty should admit no discourse +to your beauty. + +OPHELIA. +Could beauty, my lord, have better commerce than with honesty? + +HAMLET. +Ay, truly; for the power of beauty will sooner transform honesty from +what it is to a bawd than the force of honesty can translate beauty +into his likeness. This was sometime a paradox, but now the time gives +it proof. I did love you once. + +OPHELIA. +Indeed, my lord, you made me believe so. + +HAMLET. +You should not have believed me; for virtue cannot so inoculate our old +stock but we shall relish of it. I loved you not. + +OPHELIA. +I was the more deceived. + +HAMLET. +Get thee to a nunnery. Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am +myself indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things +that it were better my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, +revengeful, ambitious, with more offences at my beck than I have +thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act +them in. What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and +heaven? We are arrant knaves all, believe none of us. Go thy ways to a +nunnery. Where’s your father? + +OPHELIA. +At home, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Let the doors be shut upon him, that he may play the fool nowhere but +in’s own house. Farewell. + +OPHELIA. +O help him, you sweet heavens! + +HAMLET. +If thou dost marry, I’ll give thee this plague for thy dowry. Be thou +as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape calumny. Get +thee to a nunnery, go: farewell. Or if thou wilt needs marry, marry a +fool; for wise men know well enough what monsters you make of them. To +a nunnery, go; and quickly too. Farewell. + +OPHELIA. +O heavenly powers, restore him! + +HAMLET. +I have heard of your paintings too, well enough. God hath given you one +face, and you make yourselves another. You jig, you amble, and you +lisp, and nickname God’s creatures, and make your wantonness your +ignorance. Go to, I’ll no more on’t, it hath made me mad. I say, we +will have no more marriages. Those that are married already, all but +one, shall live; the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go. + +[_Exit._] + +OPHELIA. +O, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! +The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword, +Th’expectancy and rose of the fair state, +The glass of fashion and the mould of form, +Th’observ’d of all observers, quite, quite down! +And I, of ladies most deject and wretched, +That suck’d the honey of his music vows, +Now see that noble and most sovereign reason, +Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh, +That unmatch’d form and feature of blown youth +Blasted with ecstasy. O woe is me, +T’have seen what I have seen, see what I see. + +Enter King and Polonius. + +KING. +Love? His affections do not that way tend, +Nor what he spake, though it lack’d form a little, +Was not like madness. There’s something in his soul +O’er which his melancholy sits on brood, +And I do doubt the hatch and the disclose +Will be some danger, which for to prevent, +I have in quick determination +Thus set it down: he shall with speed to England +For the demand of our neglected tribute: +Haply the seas and countries different, +With variable objects, shall expel +This something settled matter in his heart, +Whereon his brains still beating puts him thus +From fashion of himself. What think you on’t? + +POLONIUS. +It shall do well. But yet do I believe +The origin and commencement of his grief +Sprung from neglected love. How now, Ophelia? +You need not tell us what Lord Hamlet said, +We heard it all. My lord, do as you please, +But if you hold it fit, after the play, +Let his queen mother all alone entreat him +To show his grief, let her be round with him, +And I’ll be plac’d, so please you, in the ear +Of all their conference. If she find him not, +To England send him; or confine him where +Your wisdom best shall think. + +KING. +It shall be so. +Madness in great ones must not unwatch’d go. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE II. A hall in the Castle. + +Enter Hamlet and certain Players. + +HAMLET. +Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trippingly on +the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of your players do, I had as +lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much +with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, +tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and +beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the +soul to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to +tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for +the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and +noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant. It +out-Herods Herod. Pray you avoid it. + +FIRST PLAYER. +I warrant your honour. + +HAMLET. +Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor. +Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, with this special +observance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature; for anything +so overdone is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at the +first and now, was and is, to hold as ’twere the mirror up to nature; +to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age +and body of the time his form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come +tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the +judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must in your allowance +o’erweigh a whole theatre of others. O, there be players that I have +seen play—and heard others praise, and that highly—not to speak it +profanely, that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait +of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed that I have +thought some of Nature’s journeymen had made men, and not made them +well, they imitated humanity so abominably. + +FIRST PLAYER. +I hope we have reform’d that indifferently with us, sir. + +HAMLET. +O reform it altogether. And let those that play your clowns speak no +more than is set down for them. For there be of them that will +themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of barren spectators to laugh +too, though in the meantime some necessary question of the play be then +to be considered. That’s villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition +in the fool that uses it. Go make you ready. + +[_Exeunt Players._] + +Enter Polonius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +How now, my lord? +Will the King hear this piece of work? + +POLONIUS. +And the Queen too, and that presently. + +HAMLET. +Bid the players make haste. + +[_Exit Polonius._] + +Will you two help to hasten them? + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +We will, my lord. + +[_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +HAMLET. +What ho, Horatio! + +Enter Horatio. + +HORATIO. +Here, sweet lord, at your service. + +HAMLET. +Horatio, thou art e’en as just a man +As e’er my conversation cop’d withal. + +HORATIO. +O my dear lord. + +HAMLET. +Nay, do not think I flatter; +For what advancement may I hope from thee, +That no revenue hast, but thy good spirits +To feed and clothe thee? Why should the poor be flatter’d? +No, let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, +And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee +Where thrift may follow fawning. Dost thou hear? +Since my dear soul was mistress of her choice, +And could of men distinguish, her election +Hath seal’d thee for herself. For thou hast been +As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing, +A man that Fortune’s buffets and rewards +Hast ta’en with equal thanks. And blessed are those +Whose blood and judgement are so well co-mingled +That they are not a pipe for Fortune’s finger +To sound what stop she please. Give me that man +That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him +In my heart’s core, ay, in my heart of heart, +As I do thee. Something too much of this. +There is a play tonight before the King. +One scene of it comes near the circumstance +Which I have told thee, of my father’s death. +I prithee, when thou see’st that act a-foot, +Even with the very comment of thy soul +Observe mine uncle. If his occulted guilt +Do not itself unkennel in one speech, +It is a damned ghost that we have seen; +And my imaginations are as foul +As Vulcan’s stithy. Give him heedful note; +For I mine eyes will rivet to his face; +And after we will both our judgements join +In censure of his seeming. + +HORATIO. +Well, my lord. +If he steal aught the whilst this play is playing, +And ’scape detecting, I will pay the theft. + +HAMLET. +They are coming to the play. I must be idle. +Get you a place. + +Danish march. A flourish. Enter King, Queen, Polonius, Ophelia, +Rosencrantz, Guildenstern and others. + +KING. +How fares our cousin Hamlet? + +HAMLET. +Excellent, i’ faith; of the chameleon’s dish: I eat the air, +promise-crammed: you cannot feed capons so. + +KING. +I have nothing with this answer, Hamlet; these words are not mine. + +HAMLET. +No, nor mine now. [_To Polonius._] My lord, you play’d once i’ +th’university, you say? + +POLONIUS. +That did I, my lord, and was accounted a good actor. + +HAMLET. +What did you enact? + +POLONIUS. +I did enact Julius Caesar. I was kill’d i’ th’ Capitol. Brutus killed +me. + +HAMLET. +It was a brute part of him to kill so capital a calf there. Be the +players ready? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience. + +QUEEN. +Come hither, my dear Hamlet, sit by me. + +HAMLET. +No, good mother, here’s metal more attractive. + +POLONIUS. +[_To the King._] O ho! do you mark that? + +HAMLET. +Lady, shall I lie in your lap? + +[_Lying down at Ophelia’s feet._] + +OPHELIA. +No, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I mean, my head upon your lap? + +OPHELIA. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Do you think I meant country matters? + +OPHELIA. +I think nothing, my lord. + +HAMLET. +That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs. + +OPHELIA. +What is, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Nothing. + +OPHELIA. +You are merry, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Who, I? + +OPHELIA. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +O God, your only jig-maker! What should a man do but be merry? For look +you how cheerfully my mother looks, and my father died within’s two +hours. + +OPHELIA. +Nay, ’tis twice two months, my lord. + +HAMLET. +So long? Nay then, let the devil wear black, for I’ll have a suit of +sables. O heavens! die two months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then +there’s hope a great man’s memory may outlive his life half a year. But +by’r lady, he must build churches then; or else shall he suffer not +thinking on, with the hobby-horse, whose epitaph is ‘For, O, for O, the +hobby-horse is forgot!’ + +Trumpets sound. The dumb show enters. + +_Enter a King and a Queen very lovingly; the Queen embracing him and he +her. She kneels, and makes show of protestation unto him. He takes her +up, and declines his head upon her neck. Lays him down upon a bank of +flowers. She, seeing him asleep, leaves him. Anon comes in a fellow, +takes off his crown, kisses it, pours poison in the King’s ears, and +exits. The Queen returns, finds the King dead, and makes passionate +action. The Poisoner with some three or four Mutes, comes in again, +seeming to lament with her. The dead body is carried away. The Poisoner +woos the Queen with gifts. She seems loth and unwilling awhile, but in +the end accepts his love._ + +[_Exeunt._] + +OPHELIA. +What means this, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Marry, this is miching mallecho; it means mischief. + +OPHELIA. +Belike this show imports the argument of the play. + +Enter Prologue. + +HAMLET. +We shall know by this fellow: the players cannot keep counsel; they’ll +tell all. + +OPHELIA. +Will they tell us what this show meant? + +HAMLET. +Ay, or any show that you’ll show him. Be not you ashamed to show, he’ll +not shame to tell you what it means. + +OPHELIA. +You are naught, you are naught: I’ll mark the play. + +PROLOGUE. + _For us, and for our tragedy, + Here stooping to your clemency, + We beg your hearing patiently._ + +HAMLET. +Is this a prologue, or the posy of a ring? + +OPHELIA. +’Tis brief, my lord. + +HAMLET. +As woman’s love. + +Enter a King and a Queen. + +PLAYER KING. +Full thirty times hath Phoebus’ cart gone round +Neptune’s salt wash and Tellus’ orbed ground, +And thirty dozen moons with borrow’d sheen +About the world have times twelve thirties been, +Since love our hearts, and Hymen did our hands +Unite commutual in most sacred bands. + +PLAYER QUEEN. +So many journeys may the sun and moon +Make us again count o’er ere love be done. +But, woe is me, you are so sick of late, +So far from cheer and from your former state, +That I distrust you. Yet, though I distrust, +Discomfort you, my lord, it nothing must: +For women’s fear and love holds quantity, +In neither aught, or in extremity. +Now what my love is, proof hath made you know, +And as my love is siz’d, my fear is so. +Where love is great, the littlest doubts are fear; +Where little fears grow great, great love grows there. + +PLAYER KING. +Faith, I must leave thee, love, and shortly too: +My operant powers their functions leave to do: +And thou shalt live in this fair world behind, +Honour’d, belov’d, and haply one as kind +For husband shalt thou— + +PLAYER QUEEN. +O confound the rest. +Such love must needs be treason in my breast. +In second husband let me be accurst! +None wed the second but who kill’d the first. + +HAMLET. +[_Aside._] Wormwood, wormwood. + +PLAYER QUEEN. +The instances that second marriage move +Are base respects of thrift, but none of love. +A second time I kill my husband dead, +When second husband kisses me in bed. + +PLAYER KING. +I do believe you think what now you speak; +But what we do determine, oft we break. +Purpose is but the slave to memory, +Of violent birth, but poor validity: +Which now, like fruit unripe, sticks on the tree, +But fall unshaken when they mellow be. +Most necessary ’tis that we forget +To pay ourselves what to ourselves is debt. +What to ourselves in passion we propose, +The passion ending, doth the purpose lose. +The violence of either grief or joy +Their own enactures with themselves destroy. +Where joy most revels, grief doth most lament; +Grief joys, joy grieves, on slender accident. +This world is not for aye; nor ’tis not strange +That even our loves should with our fortunes change, +For ’tis a question left us yet to prove, +Whether love lead fortune, or else fortune love. +The great man down, you mark his favourite flies, +The poor advanc’d makes friends of enemies; +And hitherto doth love on fortune tend: +For who not needs shall never lack a friend, +And who in want a hollow friend doth try, +Directly seasons him his enemy. +But orderly to end where I begun, +Our wills and fates do so contrary run +That our devices still are overthrown. +Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. +So think thou wilt no second husband wed, +But die thy thoughts when thy first lord is dead. + +PLAYER QUEEN. +Nor earth to me give food, nor heaven light, +Sport and repose lock from me day and night, +To desperation turn my trust and hope, +An anchor’s cheer in prison be my scope, +Each opposite that blanks the face of joy, +Meet what I would have well, and it destroy! +Both here and hence pursue me lasting strife, +If, once a widow, ever I be wife. + +HAMLET. +[_To Ophelia._] If she should break it now. + +PLAYER KING. +’Tis deeply sworn. Sweet, leave me here awhile. +My spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile +The tedious day with sleep. +[_Sleeps._] + +PLAYER QUEEN. +Sleep rock thy brain, +And never come mischance between us twain. + +[_Exit._] + +HAMLET. +Madam, how like you this play? + +QUEEN. +The lady protests too much, methinks. + +HAMLET. +O, but she’ll keep her word. + +KING. +Have you heard the argument? Is there no offence in’t? + +HAMLET. +No, no, they do but jest, poison in jest; no offence i’ th’ world. + +KING. +What do you call the play? + +HAMLET. +_The Mousetrap._ Marry, how? Tropically. This play is the image of a +murder done in Vienna. Gonzago is the Duke’s name, his wife Baptista: +you shall see anon; ’tis a knavish piece of work: but what o’ that? +Your majesty, and we that have free souls, it touches us not. Let the +gall’d jade wince; our withers are unwrung. + +Enter Lucianus. + +This is one Lucianus, nephew to the King. + +OPHELIA. +You are a good chorus, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I could interpret between you and your love, if I could see the puppets +dallying. + +OPHELIA. +You are keen, my lord, you are keen. + +HAMLET. +It would cost you a groaning to take off my edge. + +OPHELIA. +Still better, and worse. + +HAMLET. +So you mistake your husbands.—Begin, murderer. Pox, leave thy damnable +faces, and begin. Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge. + +LUCIANUS. +Thoughts black, hands apt, drugs fit, and time agreeing, +Confederate season, else no creature seeing; +Thou mixture rank, of midnight weeds collected, +With Hecate’s ban thrice blasted, thrice infected, +Thy natural magic and dire property +On wholesome life usurp immediately. + +[_Pours the poison into the sleeper’s ears._] + +HAMLET. +He poisons him i’ th’garden for’s estate. His name’s Gonzago. The story +is extant, and written in very choice Italian. You shall see anon how +the murderer gets the love of Gonzago’s wife. + +OPHELIA. +The King rises. + +HAMLET. +What, frighted with false fire? + +QUEEN. +How fares my lord? + +POLONIUS. +Give o’er the play. + +KING. +Give me some light. Away. + +All. +Lights, lights, lights. + +[_Exeunt all but Hamlet and Horatio._] + +HAMLET. + Why, let the strucken deer go weep, + The hart ungalled play; + For some must watch, while some must sleep, + So runs the world away. +Would not this, sir, and a forest of feathers, if the rest of my +fortunes turn Turk with me; with two Provincial roses on my razed +shoes, get me a fellowship in a cry of players, sir? + +HORATIO. +Half a share. + +HAMLET. +A whole one, I. + For thou dost know, O Damon dear, + This realm dismantled was + Of Jove himself, and now reigns here + A very, very—pajock. + +HORATIO. +You might have rhymed. + +HAMLET. +O good Horatio, I’ll take the ghost’s word for a thousand pound. Didst +perceive? + +HORATIO. +Very well, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Upon the talk of the poisoning? + +HORATIO. +I did very well note him. + +HAMLET. +Ah, ha! Come, some music. Come, the recorders. + For if the king like not the comedy, + Why then, belike he likes it not, perdie. +Come, some music. + +Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Good my lord, vouchsafe me a word with you. + +HAMLET. +Sir, a whole history. + +GUILDENSTERN. +The King, sir— + +HAMLET. +Ay, sir, what of him? + +GUILDENSTERN. +Is in his retirement, marvellous distempered. + +HAMLET. +With drink, sir? + +GUILDENSTERN. +No, my lord; rather with choler. + +HAMLET. +Your wisdom should show itself more richer to signify this to the +doctor, for me to put him to his purgation would perhaps plunge him +into far more choler. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Good my lord, put your discourse into some frame, and start not so +wildly from my affair. + +HAMLET. +I am tame, sir, pronounce. + +GUILDENSTERN. +The Queen your mother, in most great affliction of spirit, hath sent me +to you. + +HAMLET. +You are welcome. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Nay, good my lord, this courtesy is not of the right breed. If it shall +please you to make me a wholesome answer, I will do your mother’s +commandment; if not, your pardon and my return shall be the end of my +business. + +HAMLET. +Sir, I cannot. + +GUILDENSTERN. +What, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Make you a wholesome answer. My wit’s diseased. But, sir, such answer +as I can make, you shall command; or rather, as you say, my mother. +Therefore no more, but to the matter. My mother, you say,— + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Then thus she says: your behaviour hath struck her into amazement and +admiration. + +HAMLET. +O wonderful son, that can so stonish a mother! But is there no sequel +at the heels of this mother’s admiration? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +She desires to speak with you in her closet ere you go to bed. + +HAMLET. +We shall obey, were she ten times our mother. Have you any further +trade with us? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My lord, you once did love me. + +HAMLET. +And so I do still, by these pickers and stealers. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Good my lord, what is your cause of distemper? You do surely bar the +door upon your own liberty if you deny your griefs to your friend. + +HAMLET. +Sir, I lack advancement. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +How can that be, when you have the voice of the King himself for your +succession in Denmark? + +HAMLET. +Ay, sir, but while the grass grows—the proverb is something musty. + +Re-enter the Players with recorders. + +O, the recorders. Let me see one.—To withdraw with you, why do you go +about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil? + +GUILDENSTERN. +O my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly. + +HAMLET. +I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe? + +GUILDENSTERN. +My lord, I cannot. + +HAMLET. +I pray you. + +GUILDENSTERN. +Believe me, I cannot. + +HAMLET. +I do beseech you. + +GUILDENSTERN. +I know no touch of it, my lord. + +HAMLET. +’Tis as easy as lying: govern these ventages with your finger and +thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most +eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops. + +GUILDENSTERN. +But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the +skill. + +HAMLET. +Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play +upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart +of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my +compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little +organ, yet cannot you make it speak. ’Sblood, do you think I am easier +to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though +you can fret me, you cannot play upon me. + +Enter Polonius. + +God bless you, sir. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, the Queen would speak with you, and presently. + +HAMLET. +Do you see yonder cloud that’s almost in shape of a camel? + +POLONIUS. +By the mass, and ’tis like a camel indeed. + +HAMLET. +Methinks it is like a weasel. + +POLONIUS. +It is backed like a weasel. + +HAMLET. +Or like a whale. + +POLONIUS. +Very like a whale. + +HAMLET. +Then will I come to my mother by and by.—They fool me to the top of my +bent.—I will come by and by. + +POLONIUS. +I will say so. + +[_Exit._] + +HAMLET. +By and by is easily said. Leave me, friends. + +[_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] + +’Tis now the very witching time of night, +When churchyards yawn, and hell itself breathes out +Contagion to this world. Now could I drink hot blood, +And do such bitter business as the day +Would quake to look on. Soft now, to my mother. +O heart, lose not thy nature; let not ever +The soul of Nero enter this firm bosom: +Let me be cruel, not unnatural. +I will speak daggers to her, but use none; +My tongue and soul in this be hypocrites. +How in my words somever she be shent, +To give them seals never, my soul, consent. + +[_Exit._] + + SCENE III. A room in the Castle. + +Enter King, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +KING. +I like him not, nor stands it safe with us +To let his madness range. Therefore prepare you, +I your commission will forthwith dispatch, +And he to England shall along with you. +The terms of our estate may not endure +Hazard so near us as doth hourly grow +Out of his lunacies. + +GUILDENSTERN. +We will ourselves provide. +Most holy and religious fear it is +To keep those many many bodies safe +That live and feed upon your Majesty. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +The single and peculiar life is bound +With all the strength and armour of the mind, +To keep itself from ’noyance; but much more +That spirit upon whose weal depend and rest +The lives of many. The cease of majesty +Dies not alone; but like a gulf doth draw +What’s near it with it. It is a massy wheel +Fix’d on the summit of the highest mount, +To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser things +Are mortis’d and adjoin’d; which when it falls, +Each small annexment, petty consequence, +Attends the boist’rous ruin. Never alone +Did the King sigh, but with a general groan. + +KING. +Arm you, I pray you, to this speedy voyage; +For we will fetters put upon this fear, +Which now goes too free-footed. + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +We will haste us. + +[_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +Enter Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +My lord, he’s going to his mother’s closet. +Behind the arras I’ll convey myself +To hear the process. I’ll warrant she’ll tax him home, +And as you said, and wisely was it said, +’Tis meet that some more audience than a mother, +Since nature makes them partial, should o’erhear +The speech of vantage. Fare you well, my liege, +I’ll call upon you ere you go to bed, +And tell you what I know. + +KING. +Thanks, dear my lord. + +[_Exit Polonius._] + +O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; +It hath the primal eldest curse upon’t,— +A brother’s murder! Pray can I not, +Though inclination be as sharp as will: +My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent, +And, like a man to double business bound, +I stand in pause where I shall first begin, +And both neglect. What if this cursed hand +Were thicker than itself with brother’s blood, +Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens +To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy +But to confront the visage of offence? +And what’s in prayer but this twofold force, +To be forestalled ere we come to fall, +Or pardon’d being down? Then I’ll look up. +My fault is past. But O, what form of prayer +Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder! +That cannot be; since I am still possess’d +Of those effects for which I did the murder,— +My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen. +May one be pardon’d and retain th’offence? +In the corrupted currents of this world +Offence’s gilded hand may shove by justice, +And oft ’tis seen the wicked prize itself +Buys out the law. But ’tis not so above; +There is no shuffling, there the action lies +In his true nature, and we ourselves compell’d +Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, +To give in evidence. What then? What rests? +Try what repentance can. What can it not? +Yet what can it, when one cannot repent? +O wretched state! O bosom black as death! +O limed soul, that struggling to be free, +Art more engag’d! Help, angels! Make assay: +Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel, +Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. +All may be well. + +[_Retires and kneels._] + +Enter Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Now might I do it pat, now he is praying. +And now I’ll do’t. And so he goes to heaven; +And so am I reveng’d. That would be scann’d: +A villain kills my father, and for that +I, his sole son, do this same villain send +To heaven. O, this is hire and salary, not revenge. +He took my father grossly, full of bread, +With all his crimes broad blown, as flush as May; +And how his audit stands, who knows save heaven? +But in our circumstance and course of thought, +’Tis heavy with him. And am I then reveng’d, +To take him in the purging of his soul, +When he is fit and season’d for his passage? No. +Up, sword, and know thou a more horrid hent: +When he is drunk asleep; or in his rage, +Or in th’incestuous pleasure of his bed, +At gaming, swearing; or about some act +That has no relish of salvation in’t, +Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, +And that his soul may be as damn’d and black +As hell, whereto it goes. My mother stays. +This physic but prolongs thy sickly days. + +[_Exit._] + +The King rises and advances. + +KING. +My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. +Words without thoughts never to heaven go. + +[_Exit._] + + SCENE IV. Another room in the Castle. + +Enter Queen and Polonius. + +POLONIUS. +He will come straight. Look you lay home to him, +Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, +And that your Grace hath screen’d and stood between +Much heat and him. I’ll silence me e’en here. +Pray you be round with him. + +HAMLET. +[_Within._] Mother, mother, mother. + +QUEEN. +I’ll warrant you, Fear me not. +Withdraw, I hear him coming. + +[_Polonius goes behind the arras._] + +Enter Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Now, mother, what’s the matter? + +QUEEN. +Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended. + +HAMLET. +Mother, you have my father much offended. + +QUEEN. +Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue. + +HAMLET. +Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue. + +QUEEN. +Why, how now, Hamlet? + +HAMLET. +What’s the matter now? + +QUEEN. +Have you forgot me? + +HAMLET. +No, by the rood, not so. +You are the Queen, your husband’s brother’s wife, +And, would it were not so. You are my mother. + +QUEEN. +Nay, then I’ll set those to you that can speak. + +HAMLET. +Come, come, and sit you down, you shall not budge. +You go not till I set you up a glass +Where you may see the inmost part of you. + +QUEEN. +What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me? +Help, help, ho! + +POLONIUS. +[_Behind._] What, ho! help, help, help! + +HAMLET. +How now? A rat? [_Draws._] +Dead for a ducat, dead! + +[_Makes a pass through the arras._] + +POLONIUS. +[_Behind._] O, I am slain! + +[_Falls and dies._] + +QUEEN. +O me, what hast thou done? + +HAMLET. +Nay, I know not. Is it the King? + +[_Draws forth Polonius._] + +QUEEN. +O what a rash and bloody deed is this! + +HAMLET. +A bloody deed. Almost as bad, good mother, +As kill a king and marry with his brother. + +QUEEN. +As kill a king? + +HAMLET. +Ay, lady, ’twas my word.— +[_To Polonius._] Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! +I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune, +Thou find’st to be too busy is some danger.— +Leave wringing of your hands. Peace, sit you down, +And let me wring your heart, for so I shall, +If it be made of penetrable stuff; +If damned custom have not braz’d it so, +That it is proof and bulwark against sense. + +QUEEN. +What have I done, that thou dar’st wag thy tongue +In noise so rude against me? + +HAMLET. +Such an act +That blurs the grace and blush of modesty, +Calls virtue hypocrite, takes off the rose +From the fair forehead of an innocent love, +And sets a blister there. Makes marriage vows +As false as dicers’ oaths. O such a deed +As from the body of contraction plucks +The very soul, and sweet religion makes +A rhapsody of words. Heaven’s face doth glow, +Yea this solidity and compound mass, +With tristful visage, as against the doom, +Is thought-sick at the act. + +QUEEN. +Ay me, what act, +That roars so loud, and thunders in the index? + +HAMLET. +Look here upon this picture, and on this, +The counterfeit presentment of two brothers. +See what a grace was seated on this brow, +Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself, +An eye like Mars, to threaten and command, +A station like the herald Mercury +New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill: +A combination and a form indeed, +Where every god did seem to set his seal, +To give the world assurance of a man. +This was your husband. Look you now what follows. +Here is your husband, like a mildew’d ear +Blasting his wholesome brother. Have you eyes? +Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed, +And batten on this moor? Ha! have you eyes? +You cannot call it love; for at your age +The hey-day in the blood is tame, it’s humble, +And waits upon the judgement: and what judgement +Would step from this to this? Sense sure you have, +Else could you not have motion; but sure that sense +Is apoplex’d, for madness would not err +Nor sense to ecstacy was ne’er so thrall’d +But it reserv’d some quantity of choice +To serve in such a difference. What devil was’t +That thus hath cozen’d you at hoodman-blind? +Eyes without feeling, feeling without sight, +Ears without hands or eyes, smelling sans all, +Or but a sickly part of one true sense +Could not so mope. O shame! where is thy blush? +Rebellious hell, +If thou canst mutine in a matron’s bones, +To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, +And melt in her own fire. Proclaim no shame +When the compulsive ardour gives the charge, +Since frost itself as actively doth burn, +And reason panders will. + +QUEEN. +O Hamlet, speak no more. +Thou turn’st mine eyes into my very soul, +And there I see such black and grained spots +As will not leave their tinct. + +HAMLET. +Nay, but to live +In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, +Stew’d in corruption, honeying and making love +Over the nasty sty. + +QUEEN. +O speak to me no more; +These words like daggers enter in mine ears; +No more, sweet Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +A murderer and a villain; +A slave that is not twentieth part the tithe +Of your precedent lord. A vice of kings, +A cutpurse of the empire and the rule, +That from a shelf the precious diadem stole +And put it in his pocket! + +QUEEN. +No more. + +HAMLET. +A king of shreds and patches!— + +Enter Ghost. + +Save me and hover o’er me with your wings, +You heavenly guards! What would your gracious figure? + +QUEEN. +Alas, he’s mad. + +HAMLET. +Do you not come your tardy son to chide, +That, laps’d in time and passion, lets go by +The important acting of your dread command? +O say! + +GHOST. +Do not forget. This visitation +Is but to whet thy almost blunted purpose. +But look, amazement on thy mother sits. +O step between her and her fighting soul. +Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works. +Speak to her, Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +How is it with you, lady? + +QUEEN. +Alas, how is’t with you, +That you do bend your eye on vacancy, +And with the incorporal air do hold discourse? +Forth at your eyes your spirits wildly peep, +And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, +Your bedded hairs, like life in excrements, +Start up and stand an end. O gentle son, +Upon the heat and flame of thy distemper +Sprinkle cool patience. Whereon do you look? + +HAMLET. +On him, on him! Look you how pale he glares, +His form and cause conjoin’d, preaching to stones, +Would make them capable.—Do not look upon me, +Lest with this piteous action you convert +My stern effects. Then what I have to do +Will want true colour; tears perchance for blood. + +QUEEN. +To whom do you speak this? + +HAMLET. +Do you see nothing there? + +QUEEN. +Nothing at all; yet all that is I see. + +HAMLET. +Nor did you nothing hear? + +QUEEN. +No, nothing but ourselves. + +HAMLET. +Why, look you there! look how it steals away! +My father, in his habit as he liv’d! +Look where he goes even now out at the portal. + +[_Exit Ghost._] + +QUEEN. +This is the very coinage of your brain. +This bodiless creation ecstasy +Is very cunning in. + +HAMLET. +Ecstasy! +My pulse as yours doth temperately keep time, +And makes as healthful music. It is not madness +That I have utter’d. Bring me to the test, +And I the matter will re-word; which madness +Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, +Lay not that flattering unction to your soul +That not your trespass, but my madness speaks. +It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, +Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, +Infects unseen. Confess yourself to heaven, +Repent what’s past, avoid what is to come; +And do not spread the compost on the weeds, +To make them ranker. Forgive me this my virtue; +For in the fatness of these pursy times +Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg, +Yea, curb and woo for leave to do him good. + +QUEEN. +O Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain. + +HAMLET. +O throw away the worser part of it, +And live the purer with the other half. +Good night. But go not to mine uncle’s bed. +Assume a virtue, if you have it not. +That monster custom, who all sense doth eat, +Of habits evil, is angel yet in this, +That to the use of actions fair and good +He likewise gives a frock or livery +That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, +And that shall lend a kind of easiness +To the next abstinence. The next more easy; +For use almost can change the stamp of nature, +And either curb the devil, or throw him out +With wondrous potency. Once more, good night, +And when you are desirous to be bles’d, +I’ll blessing beg of you. For this same lord +[_Pointing to Polonius._] +I do repent; but heaven hath pleas’d it so, +To punish me with this, and this with me, +That I must be their scourge and minister. +I will bestow him, and will answer well +The death I gave him. So again, good night. +I must be cruel, only to be kind: +Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind. +One word more, good lady. + +QUEEN. +What shall I do? + +HAMLET. +Not this, by no means, that I bid you do: +Let the bloat King tempt you again to bed, +Pinch wanton on your cheek, call you his mouse, +And let him, for a pair of reechy kisses, +Or paddling in your neck with his damn’d fingers, +Make you to ravel all this matter out, +That I essentially am not in madness, +But mad in craft. ’Twere good you let him know, +For who that’s but a queen, fair, sober, wise, +Would from a paddock, from a bat, a gib, +Such dear concernings hide? Who would do so? +No, in despite of sense and secrecy, +Unpeg the basket on the house’s top, +Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape, +To try conclusions, in the basket creep +And break your own neck down. + +QUEEN. +Be thou assur’d, if words be made of breath, +And breath of life, I have no life to breathe +What thou hast said to me. + +HAMLET. +I must to England, you know that? + +QUEEN. +Alack, +I had forgot. ’Tis so concluded on. + +HAMLET. +There’s letters seal’d: and my two schoolfellows, +Whom I will trust as I will adders fang’d,— +They bear the mandate, they must sweep my way +And marshal me to knavery. Let it work; +For ’tis the sport to have the enginer +Hoist with his own petard, and ’t shall go hard +But I will delve one yard below their mines +And blow them at the moon. O, ’tis most sweet, +When in one line two crafts directly meet. +This man shall set me packing. +I’ll lug the guts into the neighbour room. +Mother, good night. Indeed, this counsellor +Is now most still, most secret, and most grave, +Who was in life a foolish prating knave. +Come, sir, to draw toward an end with you. +Good night, mother. + +[_Exit Hamlet dragging out Polonius._] + + + + +ACT IV + +SCENE I. A room in the Castle. + + +Enter King, Queen, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +KING. +There’s matter in these sighs. These profound heaves +You must translate; ’tis fit we understand them. +Where is your son? + +QUEEN. +Bestow this place on us a little while. + +[_To Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, who go out._] + +Ah, my good lord, what have I seen tonight! + +KING. +What, Gertrude? How does Hamlet? + +QUEEN. +Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend +Which is the mightier. In his lawless fit +Behind the arras hearing something stir, +Whips out his rapier, cries ‘A rat, a rat!’ +And in this brainish apprehension kills +The unseen good old man. + +KING. +O heavy deed! +It had been so with us, had we been there. +His liberty is full of threats to all; +To you yourself, to us, to everyone. +Alas, how shall this bloody deed be answer’d? +It will be laid to us, whose providence +Should have kept short, restrain’d, and out of haunt +This mad young man. But so much was our love +We would not understand what was most fit, +But like the owner of a foul disease, +To keep it from divulging, let it feed +Even on the pith of life. Where is he gone? + +QUEEN. +To draw apart the body he hath kill’d, +O’er whom his very madness, like some ore +Among a mineral of metals base, +Shows itself pure. He weeps for what is done. + +KING. +O Gertrude, come away! +The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch +But we will ship him hence, and this vile deed +We must with all our majesty and skill +Both countenance and excuse.—Ho, Guildenstern! + +Re-enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +Friends both, go join you with some further aid: +Hamlet in madness hath Polonius slain, +And from his mother’s closet hath he dragg’d him. +Go seek him out, speak fair, and bring the body +Into the chapel. I pray you haste in this. + +[_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +Come, Gertrude, we’ll call up our wisest friends, +And let them know both what we mean to do +And what’s untimely done, so haply slander, +Whose whisper o’er the world’s diameter, +As level as the cannon to his blank, +Transports his poison’d shot, may miss our name, +And hit the woundless air. O, come away! +My soul is full of discord and dismay. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE II. Another room in the Castle. + +Enter Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Safely stowed. + +ROSENCRANTZ and GUILDENSTERN. +[_Within._] Hamlet! Lord Hamlet! + +HAMLET. +What noise? Who calls on Hamlet? O, here they come. + +Enter Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +What have you done, my lord, with the dead body? + +HAMLET. +Compounded it with dust, whereto ’tis kin. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Tell us where ’tis, that we may take it thence, +And bear it to the chapel. + +HAMLET. +Do not believe it. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Believe what? + +HAMLET. +That I can keep your counsel, and not mine own. Besides, to be demanded +of a sponge—what replication should be made by the son of a king? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Take you me for a sponge, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Ay, sir; that soaks up the King’s countenance, his rewards, his +authorities. But such officers do the King best service in the end: he +keeps them, like an ape, in the corner of his jaw; first mouthed, to be +last swallowed: when he needs what you have gleaned, it is but +squeezing you, and, sponge, you shall be dry again. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +I understand you not, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I am glad of it. A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to the King. + +HAMLET. +The body is with the King, but the King is not with the body. The King +is a thing— + +GUILDENSTERN. +A thing, my lord! + +HAMLET. +Of nothing. Bring me to him. Hide fox, and all after. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE III. Another room in the Castle. + +Enter King, attended. + +KING. +I have sent to seek him and to find the body. +How dangerous is it that this man goes loose! +Yet must not we put the strong law on him: +He’s lov’d of the distracted multitude, +Who like not in their judgement, but their eyes; +And where ’tis so, th’offender’s scourge is weigh’d, +But never the offence. To bear all smooth and even, +This sudden sending him away must seem +Deliberate pause. Diseases desperate grown +By desperate appliance are reliev’d, +Or not at all. + +Enter Rosencrantz. + +How now? What hath befall’n? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Where the dead body is bestow’d, my lord, +We cannot get from him. + +KING. +But where is he? + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Without, my lord, guarded, to know your pleasure. + +KING. +Bring him before us. + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Ho, Guildenstern! Bring in my lord. + +Enter Hamlet and Guildenstern. + +KING. +Now, Hamlet, where’s Polonius? + +HAMLET. +At supper. + +KING. +At supper? Where? + +HAMLET. +Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation of +politic worms are e’en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet. +We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. +Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service,—two dishes, +but to one table. That’s the end. + +KING. +Alas, alas! + +HAMLET. +A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat of the +fish that hath fed of that worm. + +KING. +What dost thou mean by this? + +HAMLET. +Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through the guts +of a beggar. + +KING. +Where is Polonius? + +HAMLET. +In heaven. Send thither to see. If your messenger find him not there, +seek him i’ th’other place yourself. But indeed, if you find him not +within this month, you shall nose him as you go up the stairs into the +lobby. + +KING. +[_To some Attendants._] Go seek him there. + +HAMLET. +He will stay till you come. + +[_Exeunt Attendants._] + +KING. +Hamlet, this deed, for thine especial safety,— +Which we do tender, as we dearly grieve +For that which thou hast done,—must send thee hence +With fiery quickness. Therefore prepare thyself; +The bark is ready, and the wind at help, +Th’associates tend, and everything is bent +For England. + +HAMLET. +For England? + +KING. +Ay, Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Good. + +KING. +So is it, if thou knew’st our purposes. + +HAMLET. +I see a cherub that sees them. But, come; for England! Farewell, dear +mother. + +KING. +Thy loving father, Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +My mother. Father and mother is man and wife; man and wife is one +flesh; and so, my mother. Come, for England. + +[_Exit._] + +KING. +Follow him at foot. Tempt him with speed aboard; +Delay it not; I’ll have him hence tonight. +Away, for everything is seal’d and done +That else leans on th’affair. Pray you make haste. + +[_Exeunt Rosencrantz and Guildenstern._] + +And England, if my love thou hold’st at aught,— +As my great power thereof may give thee sense, +Since yet thy cicatrice looks raw and red +After the Danish sword, and thy free awe +Pays homage to us,—thou mayst not coldly set +Our sovereign process, which imports at full, +By letters conjuring to that effect, +The present death of Hamlet. Do it, England; +For like the hectic in my blood he rages, +And thou must cure me. Till I know ’tis done, +Howe’er my haps, my joys were ne’er begun. + +[_Exit._] + + SCENE IV. A plain in Denmark. + +Enter Fortinbras and Forces marching. + +FORTINBRAS. +Go, Captain, from me greet the Danish king. +Tell him that by his license, Fortinbras +Craves the conveyance of a promis’d march +Over his kingdom. You know the rendezvous. +If that his Majesty would aught with us, +We shall express our duty in his eye; +And let him know so. + +CAPTAIN. +I will do’t, my lord. + +FORTINBRAS. +Go softly on. + +[_Exeunt all but the Captain._] + +Enter Hamlet, Rosencrantz, Guildenstern &c. + +HAMLET. +Good sir, whose powers are these? + +CAPTAIN. +They are of Norway, sir. + +HAMLET. +How purpos’d, sir, I pray you? + +CAPTAIN. +Against some part of Poland. + +HAMLET. +Who commands them, sir? + +CAPTAIN. +The nephew to old Norway, Fortinbras. + +HAMLET. +Goes it against the main of Poland, sir, +Or for some frontier? + +CAPTAIN. +Truly to speak, and with no addition, +We go to gain a little patch of ground +That hath in it no profit but the name. +To pay five ducats, five, I would not farm it; +Nor will it yield to Norway or the Pole +A ranker rate, should it be sold in fee. + +HAMLET. +Why, then the Polack never will defend it. + +CAPTAIN. +Yes, it is already garrison’d. + +HAMLET. +Two thousand souls and twenty thousand ducats +Will not debate the question of this straw! +This is th’imposthume of much wealth and peace, +That inward breaks, and shows no cause without +Why the man dies. I humbly thank you, sir. + +CAPTAIN. +God b’ wi’ you, sir. + +[_Exit._] + +ROSENCRANTZ. +Will’t please you go, my lord? + +HAMLET. +I’ll be with you straight. Go a little before. + +[_Exeunt all but Hamlet._] + +How all occasions do inform against me, +And spur my dull revenge. What is a man +If his chief good and market of his time +Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more. +Sure he that made us with such large discourse, +Looking before and after, gave us not +That capability and godlike reason +To fust in us unus’d. Now whether it be +Bestial oblivion, or some craven scruple +Of thinking too precisely on th’event,— +A thought which, quarter’d, hath but one part wisdom +And ever three parts coward,—I do not know +Why yet I live to say this thing’s to do, +Sith I have cause, and will, and strength, and means +To do’t. Examples gross as earth exhort me, +Witness this army of such mass and charge, +Led by a delicate and tender prince, +Whose spirit, with divine ambition puff’d, +Makes mouths at the invisible event, +Exposing what is mortal and unsure +To all that fortune, death, and danger dare, +Even for an eggshell. Rightly to be great +Is not to stir without great argument, +But greatly to find quarrel in a straw +When honour’s at the stake. How stand I then, +That have a father kill’d, a mother stain’d, +Excitements of my reason and my blood, +And let all sleep, while to my shame I see +The imminent death of twenty thousand men +That, for a fantasy and trick of fame, +Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot +Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause, +Which is not tomb enough and continent +To hide the slain? O, from this time forth, +My thoughts be bloody or be nothing worth. + +[_Exit._] + + SCENE V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle. + +Enter Queen, Horatio and a Gentleman. + +QUEEN. +I will not speak with her. + +GENTLEMAN. +She is importunate, indeed distract. +Her mood will needs be pitied. + +QUEEN. +What would she have? + +GENTLEMAN. +She speaks much of her father; says she hears +There’s tricks i’ th’ world, and hems, and beats her heart, +Spurns enviously at straws, speaks things in doubt, +That carry but half sense. Her speech is nothing, +Yet the unshaped use of it doth move +The hearers to collection; they aim at it, +And botch the words up fit to their own thoughts, +Which, as her winks, and nods, and gestures yield them, +Indeed would make one think there might be thought, +Though nothing sure, yet much unhappily. +’Twere good she were spoken with, for she may strew +Dangerous conjectures in ill-breeding minds. + +QUEEN. +Let her come in. + +[_Exit Gentleman._] + +To my sick soul, as sin’s true nature is, +Each toy seems prologue to some great amiss. +So full of artless jealousy is guilt, +It spills itself in fearing to be spilt. + +Enter Ophelia. + +OPHELIA. +Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark? + +QUEEN. +How now, Ophelia? + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + How should I your true love know + From another one? + By his cockle hat and staff + And his sandal shoon. + +QUEEN. +Alas, sweet lady, what imports this song? + +OPHELIA. +Say you? Nay, pray you mark. +[_Sings._] + He is dead and gone, lady, + He is dead and gone, + At his head a grass green turf, + At his heels a stone. + +QUEEN. +Nay, but Ophelia— + +OPHELIA. +Pray you mark. +[_Sings._] + White his shroud as the mountain snow. + +Enter King. + +QUEEN. +Alas, look here, my lord! + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + Larded all with sweet flowers; + Which bewept to the grave did not go + With true-love showers. + +KING. +How do you, pretty lady? + +OPHELIA. +Well, God dild you! They say the owl was a baker’s daughter. Lord, we +know what we are, but know not what we may be. God be at your table! + +KING. +Conceit upon her father. + +OPHELIA. +Pray you, let’s have no words of this; but when they ask you what it +means, say you this: +[_Sings._] + Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day, + All in the morning betime, + And I a maid at your window, + To be your Valentine. + + Then up he rose and donn’d his clothes, + And dupp’d the chamber door, + Let in the maid, that out a maid + Never departed more. + +KING. +Pretty Ophelia! + +OPHELIA. +Indeed la, without an oath, I’ll make an end on’t. +[_Sings._] + By Gis and by Saint Charity, + Alack, and fie for shame! + Young men will do’t if they come to’t; + By Cock, they are to blame. + + Quoth she, before you tumbled me, + You promis’d me to wed. + So would I ha’ done, by yonder sun, + An thou hadst not come to my bed. + +KING. +How long hath she been thus? + +OPHELIA. +I hope all will be well. We must be patient. But I cannot choose but +weep, to think they would lay him i’ th’ cold ground. My brother shall +know of it. And so I thank you for your good counsel. Come, my coach! +Good night, ladies; good night, sweet ladies; good night, good night. + +[_Exit._] + +KING. +Follow her close; give her good watch, I pray you. + +[_Exit Horatio._] + +O, this is the poison of deep grief; it springs +All from her father’s death. O Gertrude, Gertrude, +When sorrows come, they come not single spies, +But in battalions. First, her father slain; +Next, your son gone; and he most violent author +Of his own just remove; the people muddied, +Thick, and unwholesome in their thoughts and whispers +For good Polonius’ death; and we have done but greenly +In hugger-mugger to inter him. Poor Ophelia +Divided from herself and her fair judgement, +Without the which we are pictures or mere beasts. +Last, and as much containing as all these, +Her brother is in secret come from France, +Feeds on his wonder, keeps himself in clouds, +And wants not buzzers to infect his ear +With pestilent speeches of his father’s death, +Wherein necessity, of matter beggar’d, +Will nothing stick our person to arraign +In ear and ear. O my dear Gertrude, this, +Like to a murdering piece, in many places +Gives me superfluous death. + +[_A noise within._] + +QUEEN. +Alack, what noise is this? + +KING. +Where are my Switzers? Let them guard the door. + +Enter a Gentleman. + +What is the matter? + +GENTLEMAN. +Save yourself, my lord. +The ocean, overpeering of his list, +Eats not the flats with more impetuous haste +Than young Laertes, in a riotous head, +O’erbears your offices. The rabble call him lord, +And, as the world were now but to begin, +Antiquity forgot, custom not known, +The ratifiers and props of every word, +They cry ‘Choose we! Laertes shall be king!’ +Caps, hands, and tongues applaud it to the clouds, +‘Laertes shall be king, Laertes king.’ + +QUEEN. +How cheerfully on the false trail they cry. +O, this is counter, you false Danish dogs. + +[_A noise within._] + +KING. +The doors are broke. + +Enter Laertes, armed; Danes following. + +LAERTES. +Where is this king?—Sirs, stand you all without. + +Danes. +No, let’s come in. + +LAERTES. +I pray you, give me leave. + +DANES. +We will, we will. + +[_They retire without the door._] + +LAERTES. +I thank you. Keep the door. O thou vile king, +Give me my father. + +QUEEN. +Calmly, good Laertes. + +LAERTES. +That drop of blood that’s calm proclaims me bastard; +Cries cuckold to my father, brands the harlot +Even here between the chaste unsmirched brow +Of my true mother. + +KING. +What is the cause, Laertes, +That thy rebellion looks so giant-like?— +Let him go, Gertrude. Do not fear our person. +There’s such divinity doth hedge a king, +That treason can but peep to what it would, +Acts little of his will.—Tell me, Laertes, +Why thou art thus incens’d.—Let him go, Gertrude:— +Speak, man. + +LAERTES. +Where is my father? + +KING. +Dead. + +QUEEN. +But not by him. + +KING. +Let him demand his fill. + +LAERTES. +How came he dead? I’ll not be juggled with. +To hell, allegiance! Vows, to the blackest devil! +Conscience and grace, to the profoundest pit! +I dare damnation. To this point I stand, +That both the worlds, I give to negligence, +Let come what comes; only I’ll be reveng’d +Most throughly for my father. + +KING. +Who shall stay you? + +LAERTES. +My will, not all the world. +And for my means, I’ll husband them so well, +They shall go far with little. + +KING. +Good Laertes, +If you desire to know the certainty +Of your dear father’s death, is’t writ in your revenge +That, sweepstake, you will draw both friend and foe, +Winner and loser? + +LAERTES. +None but his enemies. + +KING. +Will you know them then? + +LAERTES. +To his good friends thus wide I’ll ope my arms; +And, like the kind life-rendering pelican, +Repast them with my blood. + +KING. +Why, now you speak +Like a good child and a true gentleman. +That I am guiltless of your father’s death, +And am most sensibly in grief for it, +It shall as level to your judgement ’pear +As day does to your eye. + +DANES. +[_Within._] Let her come in. + +LAERTES. +How now! What noise is that? + +Re-enter Ophelia, fantastically dressed with straws and flowers. + +O heat, dry up my brains. Tears seven times salt, +Burn out the sense and virtue of mine eye. +By heaven, thy madness shall be paid by weight, +Till our scale turn the beam. O rose of May! +Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia! +O heavens, is’t possible a young maid’s wits +Should be as mortal as an old man’s life? +Nature is fine in love, and where ’tis fine, +It sends some precious instance of itself +After the thing it loves. + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + They bore him barefac’d on the bier, + Hey non nonny, nonny, hey nonny + And on his grave rain’d many a tear.— + Fare you well, my dove! + +LAERTES. +Hadst thou thy wits, and didst persuade revenge, +It could not move thus. + +OPHELIA. +You must sing ‘Down a-down, and you call him a-down-a.’ O, how the +wheel becomes it! It is the false steward that stole his master’s +daughter. + +LAERTES. +This nothing’s more than matter. + +OPHELIA. +There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray love, remember. And +there is pansies, that’s for thoughts. + +LAERTES. +A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance fitted. + +OPHELIA. +There’s fennel for you, and columbines. There’s rue for you; and here’s +some for me. We may call it herb of grace o’ Sundays. O you must wear +your rue with a difference. There’s a daisy. I would give you some +violets, but they wither’d all when my father died. They say he made a +good end. +[_Sings._] + For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy. + +LAERTES. +Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself +She turns to favour and to prettiness. + +OPHELIA. +[_Sings._] + And will he not come again? + And will he not come again? + No, no, he is dead, + Go to thy death-bed, + He never will come again. + + His beard was as white as snow, + All flaxen was his poll. + He is gone, he is gone, + And we cast away moan. + God ha’ mercy on his soul. + +And of all Christian souls, I pray God. God b’ wi’ ye. + +[_Exit._] + +LAERTES. +Do you see this, O God? + +KING. +Laertes, I must commune with your grief, +Or you deny me right. Go but apart, +Make choice of whom your wisest friends you will, +And they shall hear and judge ’twixt you and me. +If by direct or by collateral hand +They find us touch’d, we will our kingdom give, +Our crown, our life, and all that we call ours +To you in satisfaction; but if not, +Be you content to lend your patience to us, +And we shall jointly labour with your soul +To give it due content. + +LAERTES. +Let this be so; +His means of death, his obscure burial,— +No trophy, sword, nor hatchment o’er his bones, +No noble rite, nor formal ostentation,— +Cry to be heard, as ’twere from heaven to earth, +That I must call’t in question. + +KING. +So you shall. +And where th’offence is let the great axe fall. +I pray you go with me. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE VI. Another room in the Castle. + +Enter Horatio and a Servant. + +HORATIO. +What are they that would speak with me? + +SERVANT. +Sailors, sir. They say they have letters for you. + +HORATIO. +Let them come in. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +I do not know from what part of the world +I should be greeted, if not from Lord Hamlet. + +Enter Sailors. + +FIRST SAILOR. +God bless you, sir. + +HORATIO. +Let him bless thee too. + +FIRST SAILOR. +He shall, sir, and’t please him. There’s a letter for you, sir. It +comes from th’ambassador that was bound for England; if your name be +Horatio, as I am let to know it is. + +HORATIO. +[_Reads._] ‘Horatio, when thou shalt have overlooked this, give these +fellows some means to the King. They have letters for him. Ere we were +two days old at sea, a pirate of very warlike appointment gave us +chase. Finding ourselves too slow of sail, we put on a compelled +valour, and in the grapple I boarded them. On the instant they got +clear of our ship, so I alone became their prisoner. They have dealt +with me like thieves of mercy. But they knew what they did; I am to do +a good turn for them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and +repair thou to me with as much haste as thou wouldst fly death. I have +words to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too +light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring thee +where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course for England: +of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell. + He that thou knowest thine, + HAMLET.’ + +Come, I will give you way for these your letters, +And do’t the speedier, that you may direct me +To him from whom you brought them. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE VII. Another room in the Castle. + +Enter King and Laertes. + +KING. +Now must your conscience my acquittance seal, +And you must put me in your heart for friend, +Sith you have heard, and with a knowing ear, +That he which hath your noble father slain +Pursu’d my life. + +LAERTES. +It well appears. But tell me +Why you proceeded not against these feats, +So crimeful and so capital in nature, +As by your safety, wisdom, all things else, +You mainly were stirr’d up. + +KING. +O, for two special reasons, +Which may to you, perhaps, seem much unsinew’d, +But yet to me they are strong. The Queen his mother +Lives almost by his looks; and for myself,— +My virtue or my plague, be it either which,— +She’s so conjunctive to my life and soul, +That, as the star moves not but in his sphere, +I could not but by her. The other motive, +Why to a public count I might not go, +Is the great love the general gender bear him, +Who, dipping all his faults in their affection, +Would like the spring that turneth wood to stone, +Convert his gyves to graces; so that my arrows, +Too slightly timber’d for so loud a wind, +Would have reverted to my bow again, +And not where I had aim’d them. + +LAERTES. +And so have I a noble father lost, +A sister driven into desperate terms, +Whose worth, if praises may go back again, +Stood challenger on mount of all the age +For her perfections. But my revenge will come. + +KING. +Break not your sleeps for that. You must not think +That we are made of stuff so flat and dull +That we can let our beard be shook with danger, +And think it pastime. You shortly shall hear more. +I lov’d your father, and we love ourself, +And that, I hope, will teach you to imagine— + +Enter a Messenger. + +How now? What news? + +MESSENGER. +Letters, my lord, from Hamlet. +This to your Majesty; this to the Queen. + +KING. +From Hamlet! Who brought them? + +MESSENGER. +Sailors, my lord, they say; I saw them not. +They were given me by Claudio. He receiv’d them +Of him that brought them. + +KING. +Laertes, you shall hear them. +Leave us. + +[_Exit Messenger._] + +[_Reads._] ‘High and mighty, you shall know I am set naked on your +kingdom. Tomorrow shall I beg leave to see your kingly eyes. When I +shall, first asking your pardon thereunto, recount the occasions of my +sudden and more strange return. + HAMLET.’ + +What should this mean? Are all the rest come back? +Or is it some abuse, and no such thing? + +LAERTES. +Know you the hand? + +KING. +’Tis Hamlet’s character. ‘Naked!’ +And in a postscript here he says ‘alone.’ +Can you advise me? + +LAERTES. +I am lost in it, my lord. But let him come, +It warms the very sickness in my heart +That I shall live and tell him to his teeth, +‘Thus diest thou.’ + +KING. +If it be so, Laertes,— +As how should it be so? How otherwise?— +Will you be rul’d by me? + +LAERTES. +Ay, my lord; +So you will not o’errule me to a peace. + +KING. +To thine own peace. If he be now return’d, +As checking at his voyage, and that he means +No more to undertake it, I will work him +To an exploit, now ripe in my device, +Under the which he shall not choose but fall; +And for his death no wind shall breathe, +But even his mother shall uncharge the practice +And call it accident. + +LAERTES. +My lord, I will be rul’d; +The rather if you could devise it so +That I might be the organ. + +KING. +It falls right. +You have been talk’d of since your travel much, +And that in Hamlet’s hearing, for a quality +Wherein they say you shine. Your sum of parts +Did not together pluck such envy from him +As did that one, and that, in my regard, +Of the unworthiest siege. + +LAERTES. +What part is that, my lord? + +KING. +A very riband in the cap of youth, +Yet needful too, for youth no less becomes +The light and careless livery that it wears +Than settled age his sables and his weeds, +Importing health and graveness. Two months since +Here was a gentleman of Normandy,— +I’ve seen myself, and serv’d against, the French, +And they can well on horseback, but this gallant +Had witchcraft in’t. He grew unto his seat, +And to such wondrous doing brought his horse, +As had he been incorps’d and demi-natur’d +With the brave beast. So far he topp’d my thought +That I in forgery of shapes and tricks, +Come short of what he did. + +LAERTES. +A Norman was’t? + +KING. +A Norman. + +LAERTES. +Upon my life, Lamord. + +KING. +The very same. + +LAERTES. +I know him well. He is the brooch indeed +And gem of all the nation. + +KING. +He made confession of you, +And gave you such a masterly report +For art and exercise in your defence, +And for your rapier most especially, +That he cried out ’twould be a sight indeed +If one could match you. The scrimers of their nation +He swore had neither motion, guard, nor eye, +If you oppos’d them. Sir, this report of his +Did Hamlet so envenom with his envy +That he could nothing do but wish and beg +Your sudden coming o’er to play with him. +Now, out of this,— + +LAERTES. +What out of this, my lord? + +KING. +Laertes, was your father dear to you? +Or are you like the painting of a sorrow, +A face without a heart? + +LAERTES. +Why ask you this? + +KING. +Not that I think you did not love your father, +But that I know love is begun by time, +And that I see, in passages of proof, +Time qualifies the spark and fire of it. +There lives within the very flame of love +A kind of wick or snuff that will abate it; +And nothing is at a like goodness still, +For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, +Dies in his own too much. That we would do, +We should do when we would; for this ‘would’ changes, +And hath abatements and delays as many +As there are tongues, are hands, are accidents; +And then this ‘should’ is like a spendthrift sigh +That hurts by easing. But to the quick o’ th’ulcer: +Hamlet comes back: what would you undertake +To show yourself your father’s son in deed, +More than in words? + +LAERTES. +To cut his throat i’ th’ church. + +KING. +No place, indeed, should murder sanctuarize; +Revenge should have no bounds. But good Laertes, +Will you do this, keep close within your chamber. +Hamlet return’d shall know you are come home: +We’ll put on those shall praise your excellence, +And set a double varnish on the fame +The Frenchman gave you, bring you in fine together +And wager on your heads. He, being remiss, +Most generous, and free from all contriving, +Will not peruse the foils; so that with ease, +Or with a little shuffling, you may choose +A sword unbated, and in a pass of practice, +Requite him for your father. + +LAERTES. +I will do’t. +And for that purpose I’ll anoint my sword. +I bought an unction of a mountebank +So mortal that, but dip a knife in it, +Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rare, +Collected from all simples that have virtue +Under the moon, can save the thing from death +This is but scratch’d withal. I’ll touch my point +With this contagion, that if I gall him slightly, +It may be death. + +KING. +Let’s further think of this, +Weigh what convenience both of time and means +May fit us to our shape. If this should fail, +And that our drift look through our bad performance. +’Twere better not assay’d. Therefore this project +Should have a back or second, that might hold +If this did blast in proof. Soft, let me see. +We’ll make a solemn wager on your cunnings,— +I ha’t! When in your motion you are hot and dry, +As make your bouts more violent to that end, +And that he calls for drink, I’ll have prepar’d him +A chalice for the nonce; whereon but sipping, +If he by chance escape your venom’d stuck, +Our purpose may hold there. + +Enter Queen. + +How now, sweet Queen? + +QUEEN. +One woe doth tread upon another’s heel, +So fast they follow. Your sister’s drown’d, Laertes. + +LAERTES. +Drown’d! O, where? + +QUEEN. +There is a willow grows aslant a brook, +That shows his hoary leaves in the glassy stream. +There with fantastic garlands did she make +Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples, +That liberal shepherds give a grosser name, +But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them. +There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds +Clamb’ring to hang, an envious sliver broke, +When down her weedy trophies and herself +Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide, +And mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up, +Which time she chaunted snatches of old tunes, +As one incapable of her own distress, +Or like a creature native and indued +Unto that element. But long it could not be +Till that her garments, heavy with their drink, +Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay +To muddy death. + +LAERTES. +Alas, then she is drown’d? + +QUEEN. +Drown’d, drown’d. + +LAERTES. +Too much of water hast thou, poor Ophelia, +And therefore I forbid my tears. But yet +It is our trick; nature her custom holds, +Let shame say what it will. When these are gone, +The woman will be out. Adieu, my lord, +I have a speech of fire, that fain would blaze, +But that this folly douts it. + +[_Exit._] + +KING. +Let’s follow, Gertrude; +How much I had to do to calm his rage! +Now fear I this will give it start again; +Therefore let’s follow. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT V + +SCENE I. A churchyard. + + +Enter two Clowns with spades, &c. + +FIRST CLOWN. +Is she to be buried in Christian burial, when she wilfully seeks her +own salvation? + +SECOND CLOWN. +I tell thee she is, and therefore make her grave straight. The crowner +hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial. + +FIRST CLOWN. +How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defence? + +SECOND CLOWN. +Why, ’tis found so. + +FIRST CLOWN. +It must be _se offendendo_, it cannot be else. For here lies the point: +if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act: and an act hath three +branches. It is to act, to do, and to perform: argal, she drowned +herself wittingly. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Nay, but hear you, goodman delver,— + +FIRST CLOWN. +Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the man; good. If +the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he +goes,—mark you that. But if the water come to him and drown him, he +drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death +shortens not his own life. + +SECOND CLOWN. +But is this law? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Ay, marry, is’t, crowner’s quest law. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Will you ha’ the truth on’t? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she +should have been buried out o’ Christian burial. + +FIRST CLOWN. +Why, there thou say’st. And the more pity that great folk should have +countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their +even Christian. Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but +gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers: they hold up Adam’s profession. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Was he a gentleman? + +FIRST CLOWN. +He was the first that ever bore arms. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Why, he had none. + +FIRST CLOWN. +What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The +Scripture says Adam digg’d. Could he dig without arms? I’ll put another +question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess +thyself— + +SECOND CLOWN. +Go to. + +FIRST CLOWN. +What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, +or the carpenter? + +SECOND CLOWN. +The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. + +FIRST CLOWN. +I like thy wit well in good faith, the gallows does well. But how does +it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now, thou dost ill to say +the gallows is built stronger than the church; argal, the gallows may +do well to thee. To’t again, come. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Ay, tell me that, and unyoke. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Marry, now I can tell. + +FIRST CLOWN. +To’t. + +SECOND CLOWN. +Mass, I cannot tell. + +Enter Hamlet and Horatio, at a distance. + +FIRST CLOWN. +Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his +pace with beating; and when you are asked this question next, say ‘a +grave-maker’. The houses he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to +Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor. + +[_Exit Second Clown._] + +[_Digs and sings._] + + In youth when I did love, did love, + Methought it was very sweet; + To contract, O, the time for, a, my behove, + O methought there was nothing meet. + +HAMLET. +Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at +grave-making? + +HORATIO. +Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness. + +HAMLET. +’Tis e’en so; the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. + +FIRST CLOWN. +[_Sings._] + But age with his stealing steps + Hath claw’d me in his clutch, + And hath shipp’d me into the land, + As if I had never been such. + +[_Throws up a skull._] + +HAMLET. +That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave jowls +it to th’ ground, as if ’twere Cain’s jawbone, that did the first +murder! This might be the pate of a politician which this ass now +o’er-offices, one that would circumvent God, might it not? + +HORATIO. +It might, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Or of a courtier, which could say ‘Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost +thou, good lord?’ This might be my lord such-a-one, that praised my +lord such-a-one’s horse when he meant to beg it, might it not? + +HORATIO. +Ay, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Why, e’en so: and now my Lady Worm’s; chapless, and knocked about the +mazard with a sexton’s spade. Here’s fine revolution, an we had the +trick to see’t. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play +at loggets with ’em? Mine ache to think on’t. + +FIRST CLOWN. +[_Sings._] + A pickaxe and a spade, a spade, + For and a shrouding-sheet; + O, a pit of clay for to be made + For such a guest is meet. + +[_Throws up another skull._] + +HAMLET. +There’s another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be +his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? +Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce +with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? +Hum. This fellow might be in’s time a great buyer of land, with his +statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his +recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his +recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers +vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the +length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his +lands will scarcely lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself +have no more, ha? + +HORATIO. +Not a jot more, my lord. + +HAMLET. +Is not parchment made of sheep-skins? + +HORATIO. +Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins too. + +HAMLET. +They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I will +speak to this fellow.—Whose grave’s this, sir? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Mine, sir. +[_Sings._] + O, a pit of clay for to be made + For such a guest is meet. + +HAMLET. +I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in’t. + +FIRST CLOWN. +You lie out on’t, sir, and therefore ’tis not yours. +For my part, I do not lie in’t, yet it is mine. + +HAMLET. +Thou dost lie in’t, to be in’t and say it is thine. ’Tis for the dead, +not for the quick; therefore thou liest. + +FIRST CLOWN. +’Tis a quick lie, sir; ’t will away again from me to you. + +HAMLET. +What man dost thou dig it for? + +FIRST CLOWN. +For no man, sir. + +HAMLET. +What woman then? + +FIRST CLOWN. +For none neither. + +HAMLET. +Who is to be buried in’t? + +FIRST CLOWN. +One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she’s dead. + +HAMLET. +How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation +will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note +of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so +near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.—How long hast thou +been a grave-maker? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Of all the days i’ th’ year, I came to’t that day that our last King +Hamlet o’ercame Fortinbras. + +HAMLET. +How long is that since? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It was the very day +that young Hamlet was born,—he that is mad, and sent into England. + +HAMLET. +Ay, marry, why was he sent into England? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or if he do +not, it’s no great matter there. + +HAMLET. +Why? + +FIRST CLOWN. +’Twill not be seen in him there; there the men are as mad as he. + +HAMLET. +How came he mad? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Very strangely, they say. + +HAMLET. +How strangely? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Faith, e’en with losing his wits. + +HAMLET. +Upon what ground? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy, thirty +years. + +HAMLET. +How long will a man lie i’ th’earth ere he rot? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Faith, if he be not rotten before he die,—as we have many pocky corses +nowadays that will scarce hold the laying in,—he will last you some +eight year or nine year. A tanner will last you nine year. + +HAMLET. +Why he more than another? + +FIRST CLOWN. +Why, sir, his hide is so tann’d with his trade that he will keep out +water a great while. And your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson +dead body. Here’s a skull now; this skull hath lain in the earth +three-and-twenty years. + +HAMLET. +Whose was it? + +FIRST CLOWN. +A whoreson, mad fellow’s it was. Whose do you think it was? + +HAMLET. +Nay, I know not. + +FIRST CLOWN. +A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! A pour’d a flagon of Rhenish on my +head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the King’s jester. + +HAMLET. +This? + +FIRST CLOWN. +E’en that. + +HAMLET. +Let me see. [_Takes the skull._] Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, +Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath +borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my +imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I +have kiss’d I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? +your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table +on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chop-fallen? +Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch +thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that.—Prithee, +Horatio, tell me one thing. + +HORATIO. +What’s that, my lord? + +HAMLET. +Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this fashion i’ th’earth? + +HORATIO. +E’en so. + +HAMLET. +And smelt so? Pah! + +[_Throws down the skull._] + +HORATIO. +E’en so, my lord. + +HAMLET. +To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace +the noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping a bung-hole? + +HORATIO. +’Twere to consider too curiously to consider so. + +HAMLET. +No, faith, not a jot. But to follow him thither with modesty enough, +and likelihood to lead it; as thus. Alexander died, Alexander was +buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we +make loam; and why of that loam whereto he was converted might they not +stop a beer-barrel? +Imperious Caesar, dead and turn’d to clay, +Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. +O, that that earth which kept the world in awe +Should patch a wall t’expel the winter’s flaw. +But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King. + +Enter priests, &c, in procession; the corpse of Ophelia, Laertes and +Mourners following; King, Queen, their Trains, &c. + +The Queen, the courtiers. Who is that they follow? +And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken +The corse they follow did with desperate hand +Fordo it own life. ’Twas of some estate. +Couch we awhile and mark. + +[_Retiring with Horatio._] + +LAERTES. +What ceremony else? + +HAMLET. +That is Laertes, a very noble youth. Mark. + +LAERTES. +What ceremony else? + +PRIEST. +Her obsequies have been as far enlarg’d +As we have warranties. Her death was doubtful; +And but that great command o’ersways the order, +She should in ground unsanctified have lodg’d +Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers, +Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her. +Yet here she is allowed her virgin rites, +Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home +Of bell and burial. + +LAERTES. +Must there no more be done? + +PRIEST. +No more be done. +We should profane the service of the dead +To sing sage requiem and such rest to her +As to peace-parted souls. + +LAERTES. +Lay her i’ th’earth, +And from her fair and unpolluted flesh +May violets spring. I tell thee, churlish priest, +A minist’ring angel shall my sister be +When thou liest howling. + +HAMLET. +What, the fair Ophelia? + +QUEEN. +[_Scattering flowers._] Sweets to the sweet. Farewell. +I hop’d thou shouldst have been my Hamlet’s wife; +I thought thy bride-bed to have deck’d, sweet maid, +And not have strew’d thy grave. + +LAERTES. +O, treble woe +Fall ten times treble on that cursed head +Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense +Depriv’d thee of. Hold off the earth a while, +Till I have caught her once more in mine arms. +[_Leaps into the grave._] +Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead, +Till of this flat a mountain you have made, +To o’ertop old Pelion or the skyish head +Of blue Olympus. + +HAMLET. +[_Advancing._] +What is he whose grief +Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow +Conjures the wand’ring stars, and makes them stand +Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, +Hamlet the Dane. +[_Leaps into the grave._] + +LAERTES. +[_Grappling with him._] The devil take thy soul! + +HAMLET. +Thou pray’st not well. +I prithee take thy fingers from my throat; +For though I am not splenative and rash, +Yet have I in me something dangerous, +Which let thy wiseness fear. Away thy hand! + +KING. +Pluck them asunder. + +QUEEN. +Hamlet! Hamlet! + +All. +Gentlemen! + +HORATIO. +Good my lord, be quiet. + +[_The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave._] + +HAMLET. +Why, I will fight with him upon this theme +Until my eyelids will no longer wag. + +QUEEN. +O my son, what theme? + +HAMLET. +I lov’d Ophelia; forty thousand brothers +Could not, with all their quantity of love, +Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her? + +KING. +O, he is mad, Laertes. + +QUEEN. +For love of God forbear him! + +HAMLET. +’Swounds, show me what thou’lt do: +Woul’t weep? woul’t fight? woul’t fast? woul’t tear thyself? +Woul’t drink up eisel? eat a crocodile? +I’ll do’t. Dost thou come here to whine? +To outface me with leaping in her grave? +Be buried quick with her, and so will I. +And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw +Millions of acres on us, till our ground, +Singeing his pate against the burning zone, +Make Ossa like a wart. Nay, an thou’lt mouth, +I’ll rant as well as thou. + +QUEEN. +This is mere madness: +And thus awhile the fit will work on him; +Anon, as patient as the female dove, +When that her golden couplets are disclos’d, +His silence will sit drooping. + +HAMLET. +Hear you, sir; +What is the reason that you use me thus? +I lov’d you ever. But it is no matter. +Let Hercules himself do what he may, +The cat will mew, and dog will have his day. + +[_Exit._] + +KING. +I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him. + +[_Exit Horatio._] + +[_To Laertes_] +Strengthen your patience in our last night’s speech; +We’ll put the matter to the present push.— +Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son. +This grave shall have a living monument. +An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; +Till then in patience our proceeding be. + +[_Exeunt._] + + SCENE II. A hall in the Castle. + +Enter Hamlet and Horatio. + +HAMLET. +So much for this, sir. Now let me see the other; +You do remember all the circumstance? + +HORATIO. +Remember it, my lord! + +HAMLET. +Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting +That would not let me sleep. Methought I lay +Worse than the mutinies in the bilboes. Rashly, +And prais’d be rashness for it,—let us know, +Our indiscretion sometime serves us well, +When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us +There’s a divinity that shapes our ends, +Rough-hew them how we will. + +HORATIO. +That is most certain. + +HAMLET. +Up from my cabin, +My sea-gown scarf’d about me, in the dark +Grop’d I to find out them; had my desire, +Finger’d their packet, and in fine, withdrew +To mine own room again, making so bold, +My fears forgetting manners, to unseal +Their grand commission; where I found, Horatio, +Oh royal knavery! an exact command, +Larded with many several sorts of reasons, +Importing Denmark’s health, and England’s too, +With ho! such bugs and goblins in my life, +That on the supervise, no leisure bated, +No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, +My head should be struck off. + +HORATIO. +Is’t possible? + +HAMLET. +Here’s the commission, read it at more leisure. +But wilt thou hear me how I did proceed? + +HORATIO. +I beseech you. + +HAMLET. +Being thus benetted round with villanies,— +Or I could make a prologue to my brains, +They had begun the play,—I sat me down, +Devis’d a new commission, wrote it fair: +I once did hold it, as our statists do, +A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much +How to forget that learning; but, sir, now +It did me yeoman’s service. Wilt thou know +The effect of what I wrote? + +HORATIO. +Ay, good my lord. + +HAMLET. +An earnest conjuration from the King, +As England was his faithful tributary, +As love between them like the palm might flourish, +As peace should still her wheaten garland wear +And stand a comma ’tween their amities, +And many such-like ‘as’es of great charge, +That on the view and know of these contents, +Without debatement further, more or less, +He should the bearers put to sudden death, +Not shriving-time allow’d. + +HORATIO. +How was this seal’d? + +HAMLET. +Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. +I had my father’s signet in my purse, +Which was the model of that Danish seal: +Folded the writ up in the form of the other, +Subscrib’d it: gave’t th’impression; plac’d it safely, +The changeling never known. Now, the next day +Was our sea-fight, and what to this was sequent +Thou know’st already. + +HORATIO. +So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to’t. + +HAMLET. +Why, man, they did make love to this employment. +They are not near my conscience; their defeat +Does by their own insinuation grow. +’Tis dangerous when the baser nature comes +Between the pass and fell incensed points +Of mighty opposites. + +HORATIO. +Why, what a king is this! + +HAMLET. +Does it not, thinks’t thee, stand me now upon,— +He that hath kill’d my king, and whor’d my mother, +Popp’d in between th’election and my hopes, +Thrown out his angle for my proper life, +And with such cozenage—is’t not perfect conscience +To quit him with this arm? And is’t not to be damn’d +To let this canker of our nature come +In further evil? + +HORATIO. +It must be shortly known to him from England +What is the issue of the business there. + +HAMLET. +It will be short. The interim is mine; +And a man’s life’s no more than to say ‘One’. +But I am very sorry, good Horatio, +That to Laertes I forgot myself; +For by the image of my cause I see +The portraiture of his. I’ll court his favours. +But sure the bravery of his grief did put me +Into a tow’ring passion. + +HORATIO. +Peace, who comes here? + +Enter Osric. + +OSRIC. +Your lordship is right welcome back to Denmark. + +HAMLET. +I humbly thank you, sir. Dost know this waterfly? + +HORATIO. +No, my good lord. + +HAMLET. +Thy state is the more gracious; for ’tis a vice to know him. He hath +much land, and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib +shall stand at the king’s mess; ’tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious +in the possession of dirt. + +OSRIC. +Sweet lord, if your lordship were at leisure, I should impart a thing +to you from his Majesty. + +HAMLET. +I will receive it with all diligence of spirit. Put your bonnet to his +right use; ’tis for the head. + +OSRIC. +I thank your lordship, ’tis very hot. + +HAMLET. +No, believe me, ’tis very cold, the wind is northerly. + +OSRIC. +It is indifferent cold, my lord, indeed. + +HAMLET. +Methinks it is very sultry and hot for my complexion. + +OSRIC. +Exceedingly, my lord; it is very sultry,—as ’twere—I cannot tell how. +But, my lord, his Majesty bade me signify to you that he has laid a +great wager on your head. Sir, this is the matter,— + +HAMLET. +I beseech you, remember,— + +[_Hamlet moves him to put on his hat._] + +OSRIC. +Nay, in good faith; for mine ease, in good faith. Sir, here is newly +come to court Laertes; believe me, an absolute gentleman, full of most +excellent differences, of very soft society and great showing. Indeed, +to speak feelingly of him, he is the card or calendar of gentry; for +you shall find in him the continent of what part a gentleman would see. + +HAMLET. +Sir, his definement suffers no perdition in you, though I know, to +divide him inventorially would dizzy th’arithmetic of memory, and yet +but yaw neither, in respect of his quick sail. But, in the verity of +extolment, I take him to be a soul of great article and his infusion of +such dearth and rareness as, to make true diction of him, his semblable +is his mirror and who else would trace him his umbrage, nothing more. + +OSRIC. +Your lordship speaks most infallibly of him. + +HAMLET. +The concernancy, sir? Why do we wrap the gentleman in our more rawer +breath? + +OSRIC. +Sir? + +HORATIO. +Is’t not possible to understand in another tongue? You will do’t, sir, +really. + +HAMLET. +What imports the nomination of this gentleman? + +OSRIC. +Of Laertes? + +HORATIO. +His purse is empty already, all’s golden words are spent. + +HAMLET. +Of him, sir. + +OSRIC. +I know you are not ignorant,— + +HAMLET. +I would you did, sir; yet in faith if you did, it would not much +approve me. Well, sir? + +OSRIC. +You are not ignorant of what excellence Laertes is,— + +HAMLET. +I dare not confess that, lest I should compare with him in excellence; +but to know a man well were to know himself. + +OSRIC. +I mean, sir, for his weapon; but in the imputation laid on him, by them +in his meed he’s unfellowed. + +HAMLET. +What’s his weapon? + +OSRIC. +Rapier and dagger. + +HAMLET. +That’s two of his weapons. But well. + +OSRIC. +The King, sir, hath wager’d with him six Barbary horses, against the +which he has imponed, as I take it, six French rapiers and poniards, +with their assigns, as girdle, hangers, and so. Three of the carriages, +in faith, are very dear to fancy, very responsive to the hilts, most +delicate carriages, and of very liberal conceit. + +HAMLET. +What call you the carriages? + +HORATIO. +I knew you must be edified by the margin ere you had done. + +OSRIC. +The carriages, sir, are the hangers. + +HAMLET. +The phrase would be more german to the matter if we could carry cannon +by our sides. I would it might be hangers till then. But on. Six +Barbary horses against six French swords, their assigns, and three +liberal conceited carriages: that’s the French bet against the Danish. +Why is this all imponed, as you call it? + +OSRIC. +The King, sir, hath laid that in a dozen passes between you and him, he +shall not exceed you three hits. He hath laid on twelve for nine. And +it would come to immediate trial if your lordship would vouchsafe the +answer. + +HAMLET. +How if I answer no? + +OSRIC. +I mean, my lord, the opposition of your person in trial. + +HAMLET. +Sir, I will walk here in the hall. If it please his Majesty, it is the +breathing time of day with me. Let the foils be brought, the gentleman +willing, and the King hold his purpose, I will win for him if I can; if +not, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits. + +OSRIC. +Shall I re-deliver you e’en so? + +HAMLET. +To this effect, sir; after what flourish your nature will. + +OSRIC. +I commend my duty to your lordship. + +HAMLET. +Yours, yours. + +[_Exit Osric._] + +He does well to commend it himself, there are no tongues else for’s +turn. + +HORATIO. +This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head. + +HAMLET. +He did comply with his dug before he suck’d it. Thus has he,—and many +more of the same bevy that I know the drossy age dotes on,— only got +the tune of the time and outward habit of encounter; a kind of yeasty +collection, which carries them through and through the most fanned and +winnowed opinions; and do but blow them to their trial, the bubbles are +out. + +Enter a Lord. + +LORD. +My lord, his Majesty commended him to you by young Osric, who brings +back to him that you attend him in the hall. He sends to know if your +pleasure hold to play with Laertes or that you will take longer time. + +HAMLET. +I am constant to my purposes, they follow the King’s pleasure. If his +fitness speaks, mine is ready. Now or whensoever, provided I be so able +as now. + +LORD. +The King and Queen and all are coming down. + +HAMLET. +In happy time. + +LORD. +The Queen desires you to use some gentle entertainment to Laertes +before you fall to play. + +HAMLET. +She well instructs me. + +[_Exit Lord._] + +HORATIO. +You will lose this wager, my lord. + +HAMLET. +I do not think so. Since he went into France, I have been in continual +practice. I shall win at the odds. But thou wouldst not think how ill +all’s here about my heart: but it is no matter. + +HORATIO. +Nay, good my lord. + +HAMLET. +It is but foolery; but it is such a kind of gain-giving as would +perhaps trouble a woman. + +HORATIO. +If your mind dislike anything, obey it. I will forestall their repair +hither, and say you are not fit. + +HAMLET. +Not a whit, we defy augury. There’s a special providence in the fall of +a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come; if it be not to come, it +will be now; if it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all. +Since no man has aught of what he leaves, what is’t to leave betimes? + +Enter King, Queen, Laertes, Lords, Osric and Attendants with foils &c. + +KING. +Come, Hamlet, come, and take this hand from me. + +[_The King puts Laertes’s hand into Hamlet’s._] + +HAMLET. +Give me your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong; +But pardon’t as you are a gentleman. +This presence knows, and you must needs have heard, +How I am punish’d with sore distraction. +What I have done +That might your nature, honour, and exception +Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. +Was’t Hamlet wrong’d Laertes? Never Hamlet. +If Hamlet from himself be ta’en away, +And when he’s not himself does wrong Laertes, +Then Hamlet does it not, Hamlet denies it. +Who does it, then? His madness. If’t be so, +Hamlet is of the faction that is wrong’d; +His madness is poor Hamlet’s enemy. +Sir, in this audience, +Let my disclaiming from a purpos’d evil +Free me so far in your most generous thoughts +That I have shot my arrow o’er the house +And hurt my brother. + +LAERTES. +I am satisfied in nature, +Whose motive in this case should stir me most +To my revenge. But in my terms of honour +I stand aloof, and will no reconcilement +Till by some elder masters of known honour +I have a voice and precedent of peace +To keep my name ungor’d. But till that time +I do receive your offer’d love like love, +And will not wrong it. + +HAMLET. +I embrace it freely, +And will this brother’s wager frankly play.— +Give us the foils; come on. + +LAERTES. +Come, one for me. + +HAMLET. +I’ll be your foil, Laertes; in mine ignorance +Your skill shall like a star i’ th’ darkest night, +Stick fiery off indeed. + +LAERTES. +You mock me, sir. + +HAMLET. +No, by this hand. + +KING. +Give them the foils, young Osric. Cousin Hamlet, +You know the wager? + +HAMLET. +Very well, my lord. +Your Grace has laid the odds o’ the weaker side. + +KING. +I do not fear it. I have seen you both; +But since he is better’d, we have therefore odds. + +LAERTES. +This is too heavy. Let me see another. + +HAMLET. +This likes me well. These foils have all a length? + +[_They prepare to play._] + +OSRIC. +Ay, my good lord. + +KING. +Set me the stoups of wine upon that table. +If Hamlet give the first or second hit, +Or quit in answer of the third exchange, +Let all the battlements their ordnance fire; +The King shall drink to Hamlet’s better breath, +And in the cup an union shall he throw +Richer than that which four successive kings +In Denmark’s crown have worn. Give me the cups; +And let the kettle to the trumpet speak, +The trumpet to the cannoneer without, +The cannons to the heavens, the heavens to earth, +‘Now the King drinks to Hamlet.’ Come, begin. +And you, the judges, bear a wary eye. + +HAMLET. +Come on, sir. + +LAERTES. +Come, my lord. + +[_They play._] + +HAMLET. +One. + +LAERTES. +No. + +HAMLET. +Judgement. + +OSRIC. +A hit, a very palpable hit. + +LAERTES. +Well; again. + +KING. +Stay, give me drink. Hamlet, this pearl is thine; +Here’s to thy health. + +[_Trumpets sound, and cannon shot off within._] + +Give him the cup. + +HAMLET. +I’ll play this bout first; set it by awhile. + +[_They play._] + +Come. Another hit; what say you? + +LAERTES. +A touch, a touch, I do confess. + +KING. +Our son shall win. + +QUEEN. +He’s fat, and scant of breath. +Here, Hamlet, take my napkin, rub thy brows. +The Queen carouses to thy fortune, Hamlet. + +HAMLET. +Good madam. + +KING. +Gertrude, do not drink. + +QUEEN. +I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me. + +KING. +[_Aside._] It is the poison’d cup; it is too late. + +HAMLET. +I dare not drink yet, madam. By and by. + +QUEEN. +Come, let me wipe thy face. + +LAERTES. +My lord, I’ll hit him now. + +KING. +I do not think’t. + +LAERTES. +[_Aside._] And yet ’tis almost ’gainst my conscience. + +HAMLET. +Come for the third, Laertes. You do but dally. +I pray you pass with your best violence. +I am afeard you make a wanton of me. + +LAERTES. +Say you so? Come on. + +[_They play._] + +OSRIC. +Nothing neither way. + +LAERTES. +Have at you now. + +[_Laertes wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, they change rapiers, and +Hamlet wounds Laertes._] + +KING. +Part them; they are incens’d. + +HAMLET. +Nay, come again! + +[_The Queen falls._] + +OSRIC. +Look to the Queen there, ho! + +HORATIO. +They bleed on both sides. How is it, my lord? + +OSRIC. +How is’t, Laertes? + +LAERTES. +Why, as a woodcock to my own springe, Osric. +I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery. + +HAMLET. +How does the Queen? + +KING. +She swoons to see them bleed. + +QUEEN. +No, no, the drink, the drink! O my dear Hamlet! +The drink, the drink! I am poison’d. + +[_Dies._] + +HAMLET. +O villany! Ho! Let the door be lock’d: +Treachery! Seek it out. + +[_Laertes falls._] + +LAERTES. +It is here, Hamlet. Hamlet, thou art slain. +No medicine in the world can do thee good. +In thee there is not half an hour of life; +The treacherous instrument is in thy hand, +Unbated and envenom’d. The foul practice +Hath turn’d itself on me. Lo, here I lie, +Never to rise again. Thy mother’s poison’d. +I can no more. The King, the King’s to blame. + +HAMLET. +The point envenom’d too! +Then, venom, to thy work. + +[_Stabs the King._] + +OSRIC and LORDS. +Treason! treason! + +KING. +O yet defend me, friends. I am but hurt. + +HAMLET. +Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, +Drink off this potion. Is thy union here? +Follow my mother. + +[_King dies._] + +LAERTES. +He is justly serv’d. +It is a poison temper’d by himself. +Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet. +Mine and my father’s death come not upon thee, +Nor thine on me. + +[_Dies._] + +HAMLET. +Heaven make thee free of it! I follow thee. +I am dead, Horatio. Wretched Queen, adieu. +You that look pale and tremble at this chance, +That are but mutes or audience to this act, +Had I but time,—as this fell sergeant, death, +Is strict in his arrest,—O, I could tell you,— +But let it be. Horatio, I am dead, +Thou liv’st; report me and my cause aright +To the unsatisfied. + +HORATIO. +Never believe it. +I am more an antique Roman than a Dane. +Here’s yet some liquor left. + +HAMLET. +As th’art a man, +Give me the cup. Let go; by Heaven, I’ll have’t. +O good Horatio, what a wounded name, +Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me. +If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, +Absent thee from felicity awhile, +And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, +To tell my story. + +[_March afar off, and shot within._] + +What warlike noise is this? + +OSRIC. +Young Fortinbras, with conquest come from Poland, +To the ambassadors of England gives +This warlike volley. + +HAMLET. +O, I die, Horatio. +The potent poison quite o’er-crows my spirit: +I cannot live to hear the news from England, +But I do prophesy th’election lights +On Fortinbras. He has my dying voice. +So tell him, with the occurrents more and less, +Which have solicited. The rest is silence. + +[_Dies._] + +HORATIO. +Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, +And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. +Why does the drum come hither? + +[_March within._] + +Enter Fortinbras, the English Ambassadors and others. + +FORTINBRAS. +Where is this sight? + +HORATIO. +What is it you would see? +If aught of woe or wonder, cease your search. + +FORTINBRAS. +This quarry cries on havoc. O proud death, +What feast is toward in thine eternal cell, +That thou so many princes at a shot +So bloodily hast struck? + +FIRST AMBASSADOR. +The sight is dismal; +And our affairs from England come too late. +The ears are senseless that should give us hearing, +To tell him his commandment is fulfill’d, +That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead. +Where should we have our thanks? + +HORATIO. +Not from his mouth, +Had it th’ability of life to thank you. +He never gave commandment for their death. +But since, so jump upon this bloody question, +You from the Polack wars, and you from England +Are here arriv’d, give order that these bodies +High on a stage be placed to the view, +And let me speak to th’ yet unknowing world +How these things came about. So shall you hear +Of carnal, bloody and unnatural acts, +Of accidental judgements, casual slaughters, +Of deaths put on by cunning and forc’d cause, +And, in this upshot, purposes mistook +Fall’n on the inventors’ heads. All this can I +Truly deliver. + +FORTINBRAS. +Let us haste to hear it, +And call the noblest to the audience. +For me, with sorrow I embrace my fortune. +I have some rights of memory in this kingdom, +Which now to claim my vantage doth invite me. + +HORATIO. +Of that I shall have also cause to speak, +And from his mouth whose voice will draw on more. +But let this same be presently perform’d, +Even while men’s minds are wild, lest more mischance +On plots and errors happen. + +FORTINBRAS. +Let four captains +Bear Hamlet like a soldier to the stage, +For he was likely, had he been put on, +To have prov’d most royally; and for his passage, +The soldiers’ music and the rites of war +Speak loudly for him. +Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this +Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. +Go, bid the soldiers shoot. + +[_A dead march._] + +[_Exeunt, bearing off the bodies, after which a peal of ordnance is +shot off._] + + + + +THE FIRST PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + + + +Contents + +ACT I +Scene I. London. A Room in the Palace. +Scene II. The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry’s. +Scene III. The Same. A Room in the Palace. + +ACT II +Scene I. Rochester. An Inn-Yard. +Scene II. The Road by Gads-hill. +Scene III. Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. +Scene IV. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s Head Tavern. + +ACT III +Scene I. Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon’s House. +Scene II. London. A Room in the Palace. +Scene III. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s Head Tavern. + +ACT IV +Scene I. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. +Scene II. A public Road near Coventry. +Scene III. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. +Scene IV. York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace. + +ACT V +Scene I. The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury. +Scene II. The Rebel Camp. +Scene III. Plain between the Camps. +Scene IV. Another Part of the Field. +Scene V. Another Part of the Field. + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +KING HENRY the Fourth. +HENRY, PRINCE of Wales, son to the King. +Prince John of LANCASTER, son to the King. +Earl of WESTMORELAND. +Sir Walter BLUNT. +Thomas Percy, Earl of WORCESTER. +Henry Percy, Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND. +Henry Percy, surnamed HOTSPUR, his son. +Edmund MORTIMER, Earl of March. +Scroop, ARCHBISHOP of York. +SIR MICHAEL, a friend to the archbishop of York. +Archibald, Earl of DOUGLAS. +Owen GLENDOWER. +Sir Richard VERNON. +Sir John FALSTAFF. +POINS. +GADSHILL. +PETO. +BARDOLPH. +LADY PERCY, Wife to Hotspur. +Lady Mortimer, Daughter to Glendower. +Mrs. Quickly, Hostess in Eastcheap. +Lords, Officers, Sheriff, Vintner, Chamberlain, Drawers, Carriers, +Ostler, Messengers, Servant, Travellers and Attendants. + +SCENE. England and Wales. + + + + +ACT I + + +SCENE I. London. A Room in the Palace. + +Enter the King, Lord John of Lancaster, Earl of Westmoreland with +others. + +KING. +So shaken as we are, so wan with care, +Find we a time for frighted peace to pant, +And breathe short-winded accents of new broils +To be commenced in strands afar remote. +No more the thirsty entrance of this soil +Shall daub her lips with her own children’s blood, +No more shall trenching war channel her fields, +Nor bruise her flow’rets with the armed hoofs +Of hostile paces: those opposed eyes, +Which, like the meteors of a troubled heaven, +All of one nature, of one substance bred, +Did lately meet in the intestine shock +And furious close of civil butchery, +Shall now, in mutual well-beseeming ranks, +March all one way, and be no more opposed +Against acquaintance, kindred, and allies. +The edge of war, like an ill-sheathed knife, +No more shall cut his master. Therefore, friends, +As far as to the sepulchre of Christ— +Whose soldier now, under whose blessed cross +We are impressed and engaged to fight— +Forthwith a power of English shall we levy, +Whose arms were molded in their mothers’ womb +To chase these pagans in those holy fields +Over whose acres walked those blessed feet +Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed +For our advantage on the bitter cross. +But this our purpose now is twelve month old, +And bootless ’tis to tell you we will go; +Therefore we meet not now. Then let me hear +Of you, my gentle cousin Westmoreland, +What yesternight our Council did decree +In forwarding this dear expedience. + +WESTMORELAND. +My liege, this haste was hot in question, +And many limits of the charge set down +But yesternight, when all athwart there came +A post from Wales loaden with heavy news, +Whose worst was that the noble Mortimer, +Leading the men of Herefordshire to fight +Against the irregular and wild Glendower, +Was by the rude hands of that Welshman taken, +A thousand of his people butchered, +Upon whose dead corpse there was such misuse, +Such beastly shameless transformation, +By those Welshwomen done, as may not be +Without much shame retold or spoken of. + +KING. +It seems then that the tidings of this broil +Brake off our business for the Holy Land. + +WESTMORELAND. +This, matched with other did, my gracious lord, +For more uneven and unwelcome news +Came from the North, and thus it did import: +On Holy-rood day the gallant Hotspur there, +Young Harry Percy, and brave Archibald, +That ever-valiant and approved Scot, +At Holmedon met, where they did spend +A sad and bloody hour; +As by discharge of their artillery, +And shape of likelihood, the news was told; +For he that brought them, in the very heat +And pride of their contention did take horse, +Uncertain of the issue any way. + +KING. +Here is a dear and true-industrious friend, +Sir Walter Blunt, new lighted from his horse, +Stained with the variation of each soil +Betwixt that Holmedon and this seat of ours; +And he hath brought us smooth and welcome news. +The Earl of Douglas is discomfited; +Ten thousand bold Scots, two-and-twenty knights, +Balked in their own blood, did Sir Walter see +On Holmedon’s plains; of prisoners Hotspur took +Mordake, Earl of Fife and eldest son +To beaten Douglas, and the Earl of Athol, +Of Murray, Angus, and Menteith. +And is not this an honourable spoil, +A gallant prize? Ha, cousin, is it not? + +WESTMORELAND. +In faith, it is a conquest for a prince to boast of. + +KING. +Yea, there thou mak’st me sad, and mak’st me sin +In envy that my Lord Northumberland +Should be the father to so blest a son, +A son who is the theme of honour’s tongue, +Amongst a grove the very straightest plant, +Who is sweet Fortune’s minion and her pride; +Whilst I, by looking on the praise of him, +See riot and dishonour stain the brow +Of my young Harry. O, that it could be proved +That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged +In cradle-clothes our children where they lay, +And called mine Percy, his Plantagenet! +Then would I have his Harry, and he mine: +But let him from my thoughts. What think you, coz, +Of this young Percy’s pride? The prisoners, +Which he in this adventure hath surprised +To his own use he keeps, and sends me word +I shall have none but Mordake, Earl of Fife. + +WESTMORELAND. +This is his uncle’s teaching, this is Worcester, +Malevolent to you in all aspects, +Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up +The crest of youth against your dignity. + +KING. +But I have sent for him to answer this; +And for this cause awhile we must neglect +Our holy purpose to Jerusalem. +Cousin, on Wednesday next our Council we +Will hold at Windsor, so inform the lords: +But come yourself with speed to us again, +For more is to be said and to be done +Than out of anger can be uttered. + +WESTMORELAND. +I will, my liege. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry’s. + +Enter Prince Henry and Sir John Falstaff. + +FALSTAFF. +Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? + +PRINCE. +Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee +after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast +forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a +devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups +of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials +the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot +wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be +so superfluous to demand the time of the day. + +FALSTAFF. +Indeed, you come near me now, Hal, for we that take purses go by the +moon and the seven stars, and not by Phœbus, he, that wand’ring knight +so fair. And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy +Grace—Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none— + +PRINCE. +What, none? + +FALSTAFF. +No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and +butter. + +PRINCE. +Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly. + +FALSTAFF. +Marry then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires +of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty: let us be +Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let +men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by +our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we +steal. + +PRINCE. +Thou sayest well, and it holds well too, for the fortune of us that are +the moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the +sea is, by the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely +snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday +morning, got with swearing “Lay by” and spent with crying “Bring in”; +now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as +high a flow as the ridge of the gallows. + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, thou say’st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern +a most sweet wench? + +PRINCE. +As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff +jerkin a most sweet robe of durance? + +FALSTAFF. +How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What +a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin? + +PRINCE. +Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern? + +FALSTAFF. +Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft. + +PRINCE. +Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part? + +FALSTAFF. +No, I’ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there. + +PRINCE. +Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch, and where it would +not, I have used my credit. + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent that thou art heir +apparent—But I prithee sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in +England when thou art king? And resolution thus fubbed as it is with +the rusty curb of old father Antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art +king, hang a thief. + +PRINCE. +No, thou shalt. + +FALSTAFF. +Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge. + +PRINCE. +Thou judgest false already, I mean thou shalt have the hanging of the +thieves, and so become a rare hangman. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as +waiting in the court, I can tell you. + +PRINCE. +For obtaining of suits? + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. +’Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear. + +PRINCE. +Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute. + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe. + +PRINCE. +What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch? + +FALSTAFF. +Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most +comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee +trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a +commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the Council +rated me the other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him +not, and yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not, and yet he +talked wisely, and in the street too. + +PRINCE. +Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards +it. + +FALSTAFF. +O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a +saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive thee for it. +Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should +speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over +this life, and I will give it over. By the Lord, an I do not, I am a +villain. I’ll be damned for never a king’s son in Christendom. + +PRINCE. +Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack? + +FALSTAFF. +Zounds, where thou wilt, lad, I’ll make one. An I do not, call me +villain and baffle me. + +PRINCE. +I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking. + +FALSTAFF. +Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal, ’tis no sin for a man to labour in his +vocation. + +Enter Poins. + +Poins!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were +to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This +is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried “Stand!” to a true man. + +PRINCE. +Good morrow, Ned. + +POINS. +Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John +Sack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, +that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a +cold capon’s leg? + +PRINCE. +Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain, for he +was never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due. + +POINS. +Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil. + +PRINCE. +Else he had been damned for cozening the devil. + +POINS. +But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock early at Gad’s +Hill, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and +traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visards for you all; +you have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I +have bespoke supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure +as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns. If +you will not, tarry at home and be hanged. + +FALSTAFF. +Hear ye, Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for +going. + +POINS. +You will, chops? + +FALSTAFF. +Hal, wilt thou make one? + +PRINCE. +Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith. + +FALSTAFF. +There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou +cam’st not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten +shillings. + +PRINCE. +Well then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap. + +FALSTAFF. +Why, that’s well said. + +PRINCE. +Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home. + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor then, when thou art king. + +PRINCE. +I care not. + +POINS. +Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down +such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of +profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be +believed, that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false +thief, for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell, you +shall find me in Eastcheap. + +PRINCE. +Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer! + +[_Exit Falstaff._] + +POINS. +Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to +execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and +Gadshill shall rob those men that we have already waylaid. Yourself and +I will not be there. And when they have the booty, if you and I do not +rob them, cut this head off from my shoulders. + +PRINCE. +But how shall we part with them in setting forth? + +POINS. +Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place +of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they +adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner +achieved but we’ll set upon them. + +PRINCE. +Yea, but ’tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, +and by every other appointment, to be ourselves. + +POINS. +Tut, our horses they shall not see, I’ll tie them in the wood; our +visards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases +of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments. + +PRINCE. +Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us. + +POINS. +Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever +turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, +I’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the +incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we +meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what +blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lives +the jest. + +PRINCE. +Well, I’ll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me +tomorrow night in Eastcheap; there I’ll sup. Farewell. + +POINS. +Farewell, my lord. + +[_Exit._] + +PRINCE. +I know you all, and will awhile uphold +The unyok’d humour of your idleness. +Yet herein will I imitate the sun, +Who doth permit the base contagious clouds +To smother up his beauty from the world, +That, when he please again to be himself, +Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at, +By breaking through the foul and ugly mists +Of vapours that did seem to strangle him. +If all the year were playing holidays, +To sport would be as tedious as to work; +But, when they seldom come, they wish’d-for come, +And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents. +So when this loose behaviour I throw off, +And pay the debt I never promised, +By how much better than my word I am, +By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes; +And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, +My reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault, +Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes +Than that which hath no foil to set it off. +I’ll so offend, to make offence a skill, +Redeeming time, when men think least I will. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE III. The Same. A Room in the Palace. + +Enter King Henry, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspur, Sir Walter Blunt +and others. + +KING. +My blood hath been too cold and temperate, +Unapt to stir at these indignities, +And you have found me, for accordingly +You tread upon my patience: but be sure +I will from henceforth rather be myself, +Mighty and to be fear’d, than my condition, +Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down, +And therefore lost that title of respect +Which the proud soul ne’er pays but to the proud. + +WORCESTER. +Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves +The scourge of greatness to be used on it, +And that same greatness too which our own hands +Have holp to make so portly. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +My lord,— + +KING. +Worcester, get thee gone, for I do see +Danger and disobedience in thine eye: +O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory, +And majesty might never yet endure +The moody frontier of a servant brow. +You have good leave to leave us. When we need +Your use and counsel, we shall send for you. + +[_Exit Worcester._] + +[_To Northumberland._] + +You were about to speak. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Yea, my good lord. +Those prisoners in your Highness’ name demanded, +Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took, +Were, as he says, not with such strength denied +As is deliver’d to your Majesty. +Either envy, therefore, or misprision +Is guilty of this fault, and not my son. + +HOTSPUR. +My liege, I did deny no prisoners. +But I remember, when the fight was done, +When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, +Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, +Came there a certain lord, neat and trimly dress’d, +Fresh as a bridegroom, and his chin new reap’d +Show’d like a stubble-land at harvest-home. +He was perfumed like a milliner, +And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held +A pouncet-box, which ever and anon +He gave his nose, and took’t away again, +Who therewith angry, when it next came there, +Took it in snuff; and still he smiled and talk’d. +And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, +He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly, +To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse +Betwixt the wind and his nobility. +With many holiday and lady terms +He question’d me, amongst the rest demanded +My prisoners in your Majesty’s behalf. +I then, all smarting with my wounds being cold, +Out of my grief and my impatience +To be so pester’d with a popinjay, +Answer’d neglectingly, I know not what, +He should, or he should not; for he made me mad +To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet, +And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman +Of guns and drums and wounds, God save the mark! +And telling me the sovereignest thing on Earth +Was parmacety for an inward bruise, +And that it was great pity, so it was, +This villainous saltpetre should be digg’d +Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, +Which many a good tall fellow had destroy’d +So cowardly, and but for these vile guns, +He would himself have been a soldier. +This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, +I answered indirectly, as I said, +And I beseech you, let not his report +Come current for an accusation +Betwixt my love and your high Majesty. + +BLUNT. +The circumstance consider’d, good my lord, +Whatever Harry Percy then had said +To such a person, and in such a place, +At such a time, with all the rest retold, +May reasonably die, and never rise +To do him wrong, or any way impeach +What then he said, so he unsay it now. + +KING. +Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners, +But with proviso and exception, +That we at our own charge shall ransom straight +His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer, +Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray’d +The lives of those that he did lead to fight +Against that great magician, damn’d Glendower, +Whose daughter, as we hear, the Earl of March +Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then +Be emptied to redeem a traitor home? +Shall we buy treason and indent with fears +When they have lost and forfeited themselves? +No, on the barren mountains let him starve; +For I shall never hold that man my friend +Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost +To ransom home revolted Mortimer. + +HOTSPUR. +Revolted Mortimer! +He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, +But by the chance of war. To prove that true +Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds, +Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took, +When on the gentle Severn’s sedgy bank, +In single opposition hand to hand, +He did confound the best part of an hour +In changing hardiment with great Glendower. +Three times they breathed, and three times did they drink, +Upon agreement, of swift Severn’s flood, +Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks, +Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds, +And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank +Blood-stained with these valiant combatants. +Never did bare and rotten policy +Colour her working with such deadly wounds, +Nor never could the noble Mortimer +Receive so many, and all willingly. +Then let not him be slander’d with revolt. + +KING. +Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him, +He never did encounter with Glendower. +I tell thee, he durst as well have met the devil alone +As Owen Glendower for an enemy. +Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth +Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer. +Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, +Or you shall hear in such a kind from me +As will displease you.—My Lord Northumberland, +We license your departure with your son.— +Send us your prisoners, or you’ll hear of it. + +[_Exit King Henry, Blunt and train._] + +HOTSPUR. +An if the devil come and roar for them, +I will not send them. I will after straight +And tell him so, for I will ease my heart, +Albeit I make a hazard of my head. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +What, drunk with choler? Stay, and pause awhile. +Here comes your uncle. + +Enter Worcester. + +HOTSPUR. +Speak of Mortimer? +Zounds, I will speak of him, and let my soul +Want mercy if I do not join with him. +Yea, on his part I’ll empty all these veins, +And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust, +But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer +As high in the air as this unthankful King, +As this ingrate and canker’d Bolingbroke. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +[_To Worcester._] +Brother, the King hath made your nephew mad. + +WORCESTER. +Who struck this heat up after I was gone? + +HOTSPUR. +He will forsooth have all my prisoners, +And when I urged the ransom once again +Of my wife’s brother, then his cheek look’d pale, +And on my face he turn’d an eye of death, +Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. + +WORCESTER. +I cannot blame him. Was not he proclaim’d +By Richard that dead is, the next of blood? + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +He was; I heard the proclamation. +And then it was when the unhappy King— +Whose wrongs in us God pardon!—did set forth +Upon his Irish expedition; +From whence he, intercepted, did return +To be deposed, and shortly murdered. + +WORCESTER. +And for whose death we in the world’s wide mouth +Live scandalized and foully spoken of. + +HOTSPUR. +But soft, I pray you, did King Richard then +Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer +Heir to the crown? + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +He did; myself did hear it. + +HOTSPUR. +Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin King, +That wish’d him on the barren mountains starve. +But shall it be that you that set the crown +Upon the head of this forgetful man, +And for his sake wear the detested blot +Of murderous subornation—shall it be, +That you a world of curses undergo, +Being the agents, or base second means, +The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather? +O, pardon me, that I descend so low, +To show the line and the predicament +Wherein you range under this subtle King. +Shall it for shame be spoken in these days, +Or fill up chronicles in time to come, +That men of your nobility and power +Did gage them both in an unjust behalf +(As both of you, God pardon it, have done) +To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose, +And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke? +And shall it in more shame be further spoken, +That you are fool’d, discarded, and shook off +By him for whom these shames ye underwent? +No, yet time serves wherein you may redeem +Your banish’d honours, and restore yourselves +Into the good thoughts of the world again: +Revenge the jeering and disdain’d contempt +Of this proud King, who studies day and night +To answer all the debt he owes to you +Even with the bloody payment of your deaths. +Therefore, I say— + +WORCESTER. +Peace, cousin, say no more. +And now I will unclasp a secret book, +And to your quick-conceiving discontents +I’ll read you matter deep and dangerous, +As full of peril and adventurous spirit +As to o’er-walk a current roaring loud +On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. + +HOTSPUR. +If we fall in, good night, or sink or swim! +Send danger from the east unto the west, +So honour cross it from the north to south, +And let them grapple. O, the blood more stirs +To rouse a lion than to start a hare! + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Imagination of some great exploit +Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. + +HOTSPUR. +By Heaven, methinks it were an easy leap +To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon, +Or dive into the bottom of the deep, +Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, +And pluck up drowned honour by the locks, +So he that doth redeem her thence might wear +Without corrival all her dignities. +But out upon this half-faced fellowship! + +WORCESTER. +He apprehends a world of figures here, +But not the form of what he should attend.— +Good cousin, give me audience for a while. + +HOTSPUR. +I cry you mercy. + +WORCESTER. +Those same noble Scots +That are your prisoners— + +HOTSPUR. +I’ll keep them all; +By God, he shall not have a Scot of them, +No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not. +I’ll keep them, by this hand! + +WORCESTER. +You start away, +And lend no ear unto my purposes: +Those prisoners you shall keep— + +HOTSPUR. +Nay, I will: that’s flat. +He said he would not ransom Mortimer, +Forbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer, +But I will find him when he lies asleep, +And in his ear I’ll holla “Mortimer!” +Nay, I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak +Nothing but “Mortimer”, and give it him, +To keep his anger still in motion. + +WORCESTER. +Hear you, cousin, a word. + +HOTSPUR. +All studies here I solemnly defy, +Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke: +And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales, +But that I think his father loves him not, +And would be glad he met with some mischance— +I would have him poison’d with a pot of ale. + +WORCESTER. +Farewell, kinsman. I will talk to you +When you are better temper’d to attend. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool +Art thou to break into this woman’s mood, +Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own! + +HOTSPUR. +Why, look you, I am whipp’d and scourged with rods, +Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear +Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. +In Richard’s time—what do you call the place? +A plague upon’t! It is in Gloucestershire. +’Twas where the madcap Duke his uncle kept, +His uncle York, where I first bow’d my knee +Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, +’Sblood, when you and he came back from Ravenspurgh. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +At Berkeley castle. + +HOTSPUR. +You say true. +Why, what a candy deal of courtesy +This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! +“Look, when his infant fortune came to age,” +And, “Gentle Harry Percy,” and “kind cousin.” +O, the devil take such cozeners!—God forgive me! +Good uncle, tell your tale. I have done. + +WORCESTER. +Nay, if you have not, to it again, +We will stay your leisure. + +HOTSPUR. +I have done, i’faith. + +WORCESTER. +Then once more to your Scottish prisoners; +Deliver them up without their ransom straight, +And make the Douglas’ son your only mean +For powers in Scotland, which, for divers reasons +Which I shall send you written, be assured +Will easily be granted.—[_To Northumberland._] You, my lord, +Your son in Scotland being thus employ’d, +Shall secretly into the bosom creep +Of that same noble prelate well beloved, +The Archbishop. + +HOTSPUR. +Of York, is it not? + +WORCESTER. +True, who bears hard +His brother’s death at Bristol, the Lord Scroop. +I speak not this in estimation, +As what I think might be, but what I know +Is ruminated, plotted, and set down, +And only stays but to behold the face +Of that occasion that shall bring it on. + +HOTSPUR. +I smell it. Upon my life it will do well. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Before the game is afoot thou still let’st slip. + +HOTSPUR. +Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot; +And then the power of Scotland and of York +To join with Mortimer, ha? + +WORCESTER. +And so they shall. + +HOTSPUR. +In faith, it is exceedingly well aim’d. + +WORCESTER. +And ’tis no little reason bids us speed, +To save our heads by raising of a head; +For, bear ourselves as even as we can, +The King will always think him in our debt, +And think we think ourselves unsatisfied, +Till he hath found a time to pay us home: +And see already how he doth begin +To make us strangers to his looks of love. + +HOTSPUR. +He does, he does, we’ll be revenged on him. + +WORCESTER. +Cousin, farewell. No further go in this +Than I by letters shall direct your course. +When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, +I’ll steal to Glendower and Lord Mortimer, +Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, +As I will fashion it, shall happily meet, +To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, +Which now we hold at much uncertainty. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Farewell, good brother; we shall thrive, I trust. + +HOTSPUR. +Uncle, adieu. O, let the hours be short, +Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport! + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT II + + +SCENE I. Rochester. An Inn-Yard. + +Enter a Carrier with a lantern in his hand. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I’ll be hang’d. Charles’ wain +is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not pack’d.—What, ostler! + +OSTLER. +[_within._] Anon, anon. + +FIRST CARRIER. +I prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; poor +jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess. + +Enter another Carrier. + +SECOND CARRIER. +Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to +give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside down since Robin +ostler died. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose, it was the death +of him. + +SECOND CARRIER. +I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas. +I am stung like a tench. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Like a tench! By the Mass, there is ne’er a king christen could be +better bit than I have been since the first cock. + +SECOND CARRIER. +Why, they will allow us ne’er a jordan, and then we leak in your +chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach. + +FIRST CARRIER. +What, ostler! Come away and be hanged, come away. + +SECOND CARRIER. +I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as +far as Charing Cross. + +FIRST CARRIER. +God’s body! The turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.—What, ostler! +A plague on thee! Hast thou never an eye in thy head? Canst not hear? +An ’twere not as good deed as drink to break the pate on thee, I am a +very villain. Come, and be hanged. Hast no faith in thee? + +Enter Gadshill. + +GADSHILL. +Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock? + +FIRST CARRIER. +I think it be two o’clock. + +GADSHILL. +I prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable. + +FIRST CARRIER. +Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith. + +GADSHILL. +I pray thee, lend me thine. + +SECOND CARRIER. +Ay, when? Canst tell? “Lend me thy lantern,” quoth he! Marry, I’ll see +thee hanged first. + +GADSHILL. +Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London? + +SECOND CARRIER. +Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour +Mugs, we’ll call up the gentlemen. They will along with company, for +they have great charge. + +[_Exeunt Carriers._] + +GADSHILL. +What, ho! Chamberlain! + +Enter Chamberlain. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +At hand, quoth pick-purse. + +GADSHILL. +That’s even as fair as “at hand, quoth the chamberlain,” for thou +variest no more from picking of purses than giving direction doth from +labouring; thou layest the plot how. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you +yesternight: there’s a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath brought three +hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him tell it to one of his +company last night at supper; a kind of auditor, one that hath +abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call +for eggs and butter. They will away presently. + +GADSHILL. +Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee +this neck. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +No, I’ll none of it. I pray thee, keep that for the hangman, for I know +thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. + +GADSHILL. +What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I’ll make a fat pair +of gallows; for, if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou +knowest he is no starveling. Tut, there are other Troyans that thou +dream’st not of, the which for sport sake are content to do the +profession some grace, that would, if matters should be looked into, +for their own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with no +foot-land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad +mustachio purple-hued malt-worms, but with nobility and tranquillity, +burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will +strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner +than pray: and yet, zounds, I lie, for they pray continually to their +saint the commonwealth, or rather not pray to her, but prey on her, for +they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out water in foul +way? + +GADSHILL. +She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We steal as in a castle, +cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to +fern-seed for your walking invisible. + +GADSHILL. +Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a +true man. + +CHAMBERLAIN. +Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief. + +GADSHILL. +Go to; _homo_ is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my +gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. The Road by Gads-hill. + +Enter Prince Henry and Poins; Bardolph and Peto at some distance. + +POINS. +Come, shelter, shelter! I have removed Falstaff’s horse, and he frets +like a gummed velvet. + +PRINCE. +Stand close. + +[_They retire._] + +Enter Falstaff. + +FALSTAFF. +Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! + +PRINCE. +[_Coming forward._] +Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! What a brawling dost thou keep! + +FALSTAFF. +Where’s Poins, Hal? + +PRINCE. +He is walked up to the top of the hill. I’ll go seek him. + +[_Retires._] + +FALSTAFF. +I am accursed to rob in that thief’s company. The rascal hath removed +my horse and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by +the square further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but +to die a fair death for all this, if I ’scape hanging for killing that +rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty +years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue’s company. If the rascal +have not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hanged. It +could not be else: I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! A plague upon +you both! Bardolph! Peto! I’ll starve ere I’ll rob a foot further. An +’twere not as good a deed as drink, to turn true man, and to leave +these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. +Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me, +and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon it +when thieves cannot be true one to another! [_They whistle._] Whew! A +plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues, give me my horse and +be hanged! + +PRINCE. +[_Coming forward._] Peace, you fat guts, lie down, lay thine ear close +to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers. + +FALSTAFF. +Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? ’Sblood, I’ll not +bear my own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father’s +exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus? + +PRINCE. +Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted. + +FALSTAFF. +I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king’s son. + +PRINCE. +Out, ye rogue! Shall I be your ostler? + +FALSTAFF. +Hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be ta’en, I’ll +peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and sung to +filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison—when a jest is so forward, +and afoot too! I hate it. + +Enter Gadshill. + +GADSHILL. +Stand! + +FALSTAFF. +So I do, against my will. + +POINS. +O, ’tis our setter. I know his voice. + +Comes forward with Bardolph and Peto. + +BARDOLPH. +What news? + +GADSHILL. +Case ye, case ye, on with your visards. There’s money of the King’s +coming down the hill, ’tis going to the King’s exchequer. + +FALSTAFF. +You lie, ye rogue, ’tis going to the King’s tavern. + +GADSHILL. +There’s enough to make us all. + +FALSTAFF. +To be hanged. + +PRINCE. +Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane. Ned Poins and I +will walk lower; if they ’scape from your encounter, then they light on +us. + +PETO. +How many be there of them? + +GADSHILL. +Some eight or ten. + +FALSTAFF. +Zounds, will they not rob us? + +PRINCE. +What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? + +FALSTAFF. +Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather, but yet no coward, +Hal. + +PRINCE. +Well, we leave that to the proof. + +POINS. +Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge. When thou need’st him, +there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast. + +FALSTAFF. +Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hanged. + +PRINCE. +[_aside to Poins._] Ned, where are our disguises? + +POINS. +[_aside to Prince Henry._] Here, hard by. Stand close. + +[_Exeunt Prince and Poins._] + +FALSTAFF. +Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I. Every man to his +business. + +Enter the Travellers. + +FIRST TRAVELLER. +Come, neighbour, the boy shall lead our horses down the hill; we’ll +walk afoot awhile and ease our legs. + +THIEVES. +Stand! + +SECOND TRAVELLER. +Jesu bless us! + +FALSTAFF. +Strike, down with them, cut the villains’ throats! Ah, whoreson +caterpillars, bacon-fed knaves, they hate us youth. Down with them, +fleece them! + +FIRST TRAVELLER. +O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever! + +FALSTAFF. +Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs, I would +your store were here! On, bacons, on! What, ye knaves! young men must +live. You are grandjurors, are ye? We’ll jure ye, faith. + +[_Here they rob them and bind them. Exeunt_] + +Enter Prince Henry and Poins in buckram suits. + +PRINCE. +The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I rob the +thieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, +laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever. + +POINS. +Stand close, I hear them coming. + +[_They retire._] + +Enter the Thieves again. + +FALSTAFF. +Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day. An the +Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there’s no equity stirring. +There’s no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck. + +[_As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them._] + +PRINCE. +Your money! + +POINS. +Villains! + +[_Falstaff after a blow or two, and the others run away, leaving the +booty behind them._] + +PRINCE. +Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse. +The thieves are all scatter’d, and possess’d with fear +So strongly that they dare not meet each other; +Each takes his fellow for an officer. +Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death, +And lards the lean earth as he walks along. +Were’t not for laughing, I should pity him. + +POINS. +How the fat rogue roared! + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. + +Enter Hotspur, reading a letter. + +HOTSPUR. +“But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be +there, in respect of the love I bear your house.” He could be +contented; why is he not, then? In respect of the love he bears our +house—he shows in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our +house. Let me see some more. “The purpose you undertake is +dangerous”—Why, that’s certain. ’Tis dangerous to take a cold, to +sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, +danger, we pluck this flower, safety. “The purpose you undertake is +dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself +unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so +great an opposition.” Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you +are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! +By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid, our friends true +and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an +excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is +this! Why, my Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of +the action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him +with his lady’s fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? Lord +Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not +besides the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by +the ninth of the next month, and are they not some of them set forward +already? What a pagan rascal is this, an infidel! Ha! You shall see +now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King, and +lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to +buffets, for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an +action! Hang him, let him tell the King, we are prepared. I will set +forward tonight.— + +Enter Lady Percy. + +How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours. + +LADY PERCY. +O my good lord, why are you thus alone? +For what offence have I this fortnight been +A banish’d woman from my Harry’s bed? +Tell me, sweet lord, what is’t that takes from thee +Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? +Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, +And start so often when thou sit’st alone? +Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks, +And given my treasures and my rights of thee +To thick-eyed musing and curst melancholy? +In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch’d, +And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, +Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed, +Cry “Courage! To the field!” And thou hast talk’d +Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents, +Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, +Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, +Of prisoners’ ransom, and of soldiers slain, +And all the currents of a heady fight. +Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, +And thus hath so bestirr’d thee in thy sleep, +That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow +Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream, +And in thy face strange motions have appear’d, +Such as we see when men restrain their breath +On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these? +Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, +And I must know it, else he loves me not. + +HOTSPUR. +What, ho! + +Enter a Servant. + +Is Gilliams with the packet gone? + +SERVANT. +He is, my lord, an hour ago. + +HOTSPUR. +Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? + +SERVANT. +One horse, my lord, he brought even now. + +HOTSPUR. +What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not? + +SERVANT. +It is, my lord. + +HOTSPUR. +That roan shall be my throne. +Well, I will back him straight. O Esperance! +Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. + +[_Exit Servant._] + +LADY PERCY. +But hear you, my lord. + +HOTSPUR. +What say’st thou, my lady? + +LADY PERCY. +What is it carries you away? + +HOTSPUR. +Why, my horse, my love, my horse. + +LADY PERCY. +Out, you mad-headed ape! +A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen +As you are toss’d with. In faith, +I’ll know your business, Harry, that I will. +I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir +About his title, and hath sent for you +To line his enterprise. But if you go— + +HOTSPUR. +So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. + +LADY PERCY. +Come, come, you paraquito, answer me +Directly unto this question that I ask. +In faith, I’ll break thy little finger, Harry, +If thou wilt not tell me all things true. + +HOTSPUR. +Away, +Away, you trifler! Love, I love thee not, +I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world +To play with mammets and to tilt with lips. +We must have bloody noses and crack’d crowns, +And pass them current too.—Gods me, my horse!— +What say’st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me? + +LADY PERCY. +Do you not love me? Do you not indeed? +Well, do not, then, for since you love me not, +I will not love myself. Do you not love me? +Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. + +HOTSPUR. +Come, wilt thou see me ride? +And when I am a-horseback I will swear +I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate, +I must not have you henceforth question me +Whither I go, nor reason whereabout. +Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude, +This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. +I know you wise, but yet no farther wise +Than Harry Percy’s wife; constant you are, +But yet a woman; and for secrecy, +No lady closer, for I well believe +Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; +And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. + +LADY PERCY. +How? So far? + +HOTSPUR. +Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate, +Whither I go, thither shall you go too. +Today will I set forth, tomorrow you. +Will this content you, Kate? + +LADY PERCY. +It must, of force. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s Head Tavern. + +Enter Prince Henry. + +PRINCE. +Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh +a little. + +Enter Poins. + +POINS. +Where hast been, Hal? + +PRINCE. +With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I +have sounded the very base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn +brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian +names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their +salvation, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of +courtesy, and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a +Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,—by the Lord, so they call +me—and when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads in +Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, “dyeing scarlet,” and when you +breathe in your watering, they cry “Hem!” and bid you “Play it off!” To +conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I +can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell +thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou wert not with me in +this action; but, sweet Ned—to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee +this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an +underskinker, one that never spake other English in his life than +“Eight shillings and sixpence,” and “You are welcome,” with this shrill +addition, “Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,” +or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee, +do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what +end he gave me the sugar, and do thou never leave calling “Francis,” +that his tale to me may be nothing but “Anon.” Step aside, and I’ll +show thee a precedent. + +[_Exit Poins._] + +POINS. +[_Within_] Francis! + +PRINCE. +Thou art perfect. + +POINS. +[_Within_] Francis! + +Enter Francis. + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomegarnet, Ralph. + +PRINCE. +Come hither, Francis. + +FRANCIS. +My lord? + +PRINCE. +How long hast thou to serve, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +Forsooth, five years, and as much as to— + +POINS. +[_within._] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon, sir. + +PRINCE. +Five year! By’r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter! But, +Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy +indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? + +FRANCIS. +O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find +in my heart— + +POINS. +[_within._] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, sir. + +PRINCE. +How old art thou, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be— + +POINS. +[_within._] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, sir.—Pray, stay a little, my lord. + +PRINCE. +Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gavest me, ’twas a +pennyworth, was’t not? + +FRANCIS. +O Lord, I would it had been two! + +PRINCE. +I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou wilt, and +thou shalt have it. + +POINS. +[_within._] Francis! + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon. + +PRINCE. +Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, a +Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,— + +FRANCIS. +My lord? + +PRINCE. +Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, +agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch— + +FRANCIS. +O Lord, sir, who do you mean? + +PRINCE. +Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink, for look you, +Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it +cannot come to so much. + +FRANCIS. +What, sir? + +POINS. +[_within._] Francis! + +PRINCE. +Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call? + +[_Here they both call him; the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which +way to go._] + +Enter Vintner. + +VINTNER. +What, stand’st thou still, and hear’st such a calling? Look to the +guests within. + +[_Exit Francis._] + +My lord, old Sir John with half-a-dozen more are at the door. Shall I +let them in? + +PRINCE. +Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. + +[_Exit Vintner._] + +Poins! + +Enter Poins. + +POINS. +Anon, anon, sir. + +PRINCE. +Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door; shall we +be merry? + +POINS. +As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you +made with this jest of the drawer? Come, what’s the issue? + +PRINCE. +I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours since the +old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve +o’clock at midnight. + +Enter Francis. + +What’s o’clock, Francis? + +FRANCIS. +Anon, anon, sir. + +[_Exit Francis._] + +PRINCE. +That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet +the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and downstairs; his +eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy’s mind, the +Hotspur of the north, he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots +at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, “Fie upon this +quiet life! I want work.” “O my sweet Harry,” says she, “how many hast +thou killed today?” “Give my roan horse a drench,” says he; and +answers, “Some fourteen,” an hour after; “a trifle, a trifle.” I +prithee, call in Falstaff. I’ll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall +play Dame Mortimer his wife. _Rivo!_ says the drunkard. Call in Ribs, +call in Tallow. + +Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph and Peto; followed by Francis with +wine. + +POINS. +Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? + +FALSTAFF. +A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry, and amen! +Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew +nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all +cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? + +[_Drinks._] + +PRINCE. +Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter (pitiful-hearted +Titan!), that melted at the sweet tale of the sun’s? If thou didst, +then behold that compound. + +FALSTAFF. +You rogue, here’s lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery +to be found in villainous man, yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack +with lime in it. A villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack. Die when +thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the +Earth, then am I a shotten herring. There lives not three good men +unhanged in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help +the while, a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing +psalms or anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still. + +PRINCE. +How now, wool-sack, what mutter you? + +FALSTAFF. +A king’s son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of +lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese, +I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You, Prince of Wales! + +PRINCE. +Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter? + +FALSTAFF. +Are not you a coward? Answer me to that—and Poins there? + +POINS. +Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab +thee. + +FALSTAFF. +I call thee coward? I’ll see thee damned ere I call thee coward, but I +would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are +straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back. Call +you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! Give me +them that will face me.—Give me a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk +today. + +PRINCE. +O villain! Thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last. + +FALSTAFF. +All is one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I. + +[_Drinks._] + +PRINCE. +What’s the matter? + +FALSTAFF. +What’s the matter? There be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound +this day morning. + +PRINCE. +Where is it, Jack, where is it? + +FALSTAFF. +Where is it? Taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. + +PRINCE. +What, a hundred, man? + +FALSTAFF. +I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours +together. I have ’scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through +the doublet, four through the hose, my buckler cut through and through, +my sword hacked like a handsaw. _Ecce signum!_ I never dealt better +since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! Let them +speak. If they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and +the sons of darkness. + +PRINCE. +Speak, sirs, how was it? + +GADSHILL. +We four set upon some dozen. + +FALSTAFF. +Sixteen at least, my lord. + +GADSHILL. +And bound them. + +PETO. +No, no, they were not bound. + +FALSTAFF. +You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else, an +Ebrew Jew. + +GADSHILL. +As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us. + +FALSTAFF. +And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. + +PRINCE. +What, fought you with them all? + +FALSTAFF. +All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not with fifty of +them I am a bunch of radish. If there were not two or three and fifty +upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature. + +PRINCE. +Pray God you have not murdered some of them. + +FALSTAFF. +Nay, that’s past praying for. I have peppered two of them. Two I am +sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, +if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowest my +old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram +let drive at me. + +PRINCE. +What, four? Thou saidst but two even now. + +FALSTAFF. +Four, Hal, I told thee four. + +POINS. +Ay, ay, he said four. + +FALSTAFF. +These four came all afront, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more +ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus. + +PRINCE. +Seven? Why, there were but four even now. + +FALSTAFF. +In buckram? + +POINS. +Ay, four, in buckram suits. + +FALSTAFF. +Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. + +PRINCE. +[_aside to Poins._] Prithee let him alone, we shall have more anon. + +FALSTAFF. +Dost thou hear me, Hal? + +PRINCE. +Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. + +FALSTAFF. +Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I +told thee of— + +PRINCE. +So, two more already. + +FALSTAFF. +Their points being broken— + +POINS. +Down fell their hose. + +FALSTAFF. +Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in foot and +hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid. + +PRINCE. +O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two! + +FALSTAFF. +But as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal +green came at my back and let drive at me, for it was so dark, Hal, +that thou couldst not see thy hand. + +PRINCE. +These lies are like the father that begets them, gross as a mountain, +open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, +thou whoreson, obscene greasy tallow-catch— + +FALSTAFF. +What, art thou mad? Art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth? + +PRINCE. +Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so +dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason. What +sayest thou to this? + +POINS. +Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. + +FALSTAFF. +What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado, or all the +racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a +reason on compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I +would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. + +PRINCE. +I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this +bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh— + +FALSTAFF. +’Sblood, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you +bull’s pizzle, you stock-fish—O, for breath to utter what is like thee! +You tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck— + +PRINCE. +Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again, and when thou hast tired +thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. + +POINS. +Mark, Jack. + +PRINCE. +We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and were masters of +their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we +two set on you four, and, with a word, outfaced you from your prize, +and have it, yea, and can show it you here in the house. And, Falstaff, +you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and +roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. +What a slave art thou to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say +it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou +now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? + +POINS. +Come, let’s hear, Jack, what trick hast thou now? + +FALSTAFF. +By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear you, my +masters, was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I turn upon +the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but +beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a +great matter. I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better +of myself, and thee, during my life—I for a valiant lion, and thou for +a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the +money.—Hostess, clap to the doors. Watch tonight, pray tomorrow. +Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship +come to you! What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore? + +PRINCE. +Content; and the argument shall be thy running away. + +FALSTAFF. +Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! + +Enter the Hostess. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, my lord the Prince— + +PRINCE. +How now, my lady the hostess! What say’st thou to me? + +HOSTESS. +Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door would speak +with you: he says he comes from your father. + +PRINCE. +Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again +to my mother. + +FALSTAFF. +What manner of man is he? + +HOSTESS. +An old man. + +FALSTAFF. +What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his +answer? + +PRINCE. +Prithee do, Jack. + +FALSTAFF. +Faith, and I’ll send him packing. + +[_Exit._] + +PRINCE. +Now, sirs: by’r Lady, you fought fair, so did you, Peto. So did you, +Bardolph. You are lions, too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not +touch the true prince, no, fie! + +BARDOLPH. +Faith, I ran when I saw others run. + +PRINCE. +Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hacked? + +PETO. +Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said he would swear truth out of +England but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and +persuaded us to do the like. + +BARDOLPH. +Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass to make them bleed, and +then to beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of +true men. I did that I did not this seven year before: I blushed to +hear his monstrous devices. + +PRINCE. +O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert +taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou +hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran’st away. What +instinct hadst thou for it? + +BARDOLPH. +My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations? + +PRINCE. +I do. + +BARDOLPH. +What think you they portend? + +PRINCE. +Hot livers and cold purses. + +BARDOLPH. +Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. + +PRINCE. +No, if rightly taken, halter. + +Enter Falstaff. + +Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature +of bombast? How long is’t ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee? + +FALSTAFF. +My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s +talon in the waist. I could have crept into any alderman’s thumb-ring: +a plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. +There’s villanous news abroad: here was Sir John Bracy from your +father; you must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of +the north, Percy, and he of Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and +made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the +cross of a Welsh hook—what a plague call you him? + +POINS. +O, Glendower. + +FALSTAFF. +Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old +Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs +a-horseback up a hill perpendicular— + +PRINCE. +He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow +flying. + +FALSTAFF. +You have hit it. + +PRINCE. +So did he never the sparrow. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, that rascal hath good metal in him, he will not run. + +PRINCE. +Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! + +FALSTAFF. +A-horseback, ye cuckoo, but afoot he will not budge a foot. + +PRINCE. +Yes, Jack, upon instinct. + +FALSTAFF. +I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and +a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stolen away tonight; thy +father’s beard is turned white with the news. You may buy land now as +cheap as stinking mackerel. + +PRINCE. +Why then, it is like if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting +hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds. + +FALSTAFF. +By the mass, lad, thou sayest true. It is like we shall have good +trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? Thou +being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies +again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil +Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at +it? + +PRINCE. +Not a whit, i’faith. I lack some of thy instinct. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, thou wilt be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy +father. If thou love me practise an answer. + +PRINCE. +Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my +life. + +FALSTAFF. +Shall I? Content! This chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, +and this cushion my crown. + +PRINCE. +Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden +dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown. + +FALSTAFF. +Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be +moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be +thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in +King Cambyses’ vein. + +PRINCE. +Well, here is my leg. + +FALSTAFF. +And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i faith! + +FALSTAFF. +Weep not, sweet Queen, for trickling tears are vain. + +HOSTESS. +O, the Father, how he holds his countenance! + +FALSTAFF. +For God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen, +For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see! + +FALSTAFF. +Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain.—Harry, I do not only +marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied. +For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it +grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou +art my son I have partly thy mother’s word, partly my own opinion, but +chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy +nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies +the point: why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the +blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries? A question +not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take +purses? A question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou +hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of +pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth +the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in +drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words +only, but in woes also. And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have +often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. + +PRINCE. +What manner of man, an it like your Majesty? + +FALSTAFF. +A goodly portly man, i’faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a +pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some +fifty, or, by’r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, +his name is Falstaff. If that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth +me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be +known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I speak +it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the rest banish. +And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this +month? + +PRINCE. +Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my +father. + +FALSTAFF. +Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in +word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a +poulter’s hare. + +PRINCE. +Well, here I am set. + +FALSTAFF. +And here I stand. Judge, my masters. + +PRINCE. +Now, Harry, whence come you? + +FALSTAFF. +My noble lord, from Eastcheap. + +PRINCE. +The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. + +FALSTAFF. +’Sblood, my lord, they are false.—Nay, I’ll tickle ye for a young +prince, i’faith. + +PRINCE. +Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne’er look on me. Thou art +violently carried away from grace. There is a devil haunts thee in the +likeness of an old fat man. A tun of man is thy companion. Why dost +thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of +beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of +sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with +the pudding in his belly, that reverend Vice, that grey iniquity, that +father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste +sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and +eat it? Wherein cunning, but in craft? Wherein crafty, but in villany? +Wherein villainous, but in all things? Wherein worthy, but in nothing? + +FALSTAFF. +I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your Grace? + +PRINCE. +That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old +white-bearded Satan. + +FALSTAFF. +My lord, the man I know. + +PRINCE. +I know thou dost. + +FALSTAFF. +But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to say more than +I know. That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness +it. But that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I +utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to +be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned. +If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh’s lean kine are to be loved. +No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins, but for +sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant +Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack +Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry’s company, banish not him thy +Harry’s company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. + +PRINCE. +I do, I will. + +[_A knocking heard._] + +[_Exeunt Hostess, Francis and Bardolph._] + +Enter Bardolph, running. + +BARDOLPH. +O, my lord, my lord, the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the +door. + +FALSTAFF. +Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in the behalf of +that Falstaff. + +Enter the Hostess, hastily. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, my lord, my lord— + +PRINCE. +Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick. What’s the matter? + +HOSTESS. +The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come to search +the house. Shall I let them in? + +FALSTAFF. +Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: +thou art essentially made without seeming so. + +PRINCE. +And thou a natural coward without instinct. + +FALSTAFF. +I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if not, let him +enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my +bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as +another. + +PRINCE. +Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk up above. Now, my masters, +for a true face and good conscience. + +FALSTAFF. +Both which I have had, but their date is out, and therefore I’ll hide +me. + +PRINCE. +Call in the sheriff. + +[_Exeunt all but the Prince and Peto._] + +Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. + +Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me? + +SHERIFF. +First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry +Hath followed certain men unto this house. + +PRINCE. +What men? + +SHERIFF. +One of them is well known, my gracious lord, +A gross fat man. + +CARRIER. +As fat as butter. + +PRINCE. +The man I do assure you is not here, +For I myself at this time have employ’d him. +And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, +That I will by tomorrow dinner-time, +Send him to answer thee, or any man, +For anything he shall be charged withal. +And so let me entreat you leave the house. + +SHERIFF. +I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen +Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. + +PRINCE. +It may be so. If he have robb’d these men, +He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. + +SHERIFF. +Good night, my noble lord. + +PRINCE. +I think it is good morrow, is it not? + +SHERIFF. +Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o’clock. + +[_Exit Sheriff with the Carrier._] + +PRINCE. +This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go, call him forth. + +PETO. +Falstaff!—Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse. + +PRINCE. +Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. + +[_He searcheth his pocket, and findeth certain papers._] + +What hast thou found? + +PETO. +Nothing but papers, my lord. + +PRINCE. +Let’s see what they be. Read them. + +PETO. +[_reads_] +Item, a capon, . . . . . . . . . . . 2s. 2d. +Item, sauce, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4d. +Item, sack, two gallons, . . . 5s. 8d. +Item, anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. +Item, bread, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ob. + +PRINCE. +O monstrous! But one halfpennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal +of sack! What there is else, keep close. We’ll read it at more +advantage. There let him sleep till day. I’ll to the court in the +morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. +I’ll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot, and I know his death will +be a march of twelve score. The money shall be paid back again with +advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so, good morrow, +Peto. + +PETO. +Good morrow, good my lord. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT III + + +SCENE I. Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon’s House. + +Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Mortimer and Glendower. + +MORTIMER. +These promises are fair, the parties sure, +And our induction full of prosperous hope. + +HOTSPUR. +Lord Mortimer and cousin Glendower, +Will you sit down? And uncle Worcester, +A plague upon it! I have forgot the map. + +GLENDOWER. +No, here it is. +Sit, cousin Percy, sit, good cousin Hotspur; +For by that name as oft as Lancaster doth speak of you +His cheek looks pale, and with a rising sigh +He wisheth you in heaven. + +HOTSPUR. +And you in hell, +As oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. + +GLENDOWER. +I cannot blame him. At my nativity +The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, +Of burning cressets, and at my birth +The frame and huge foundation of the Earth +Shaked like a coward. + +HOTSPUR. +Why, so it would have done +At the same season, if your mother’s cat +Had but kitten’d, though yourself had never been born. + +GLENDOWER. +I say the Earth did shake when I was born. + +HOTSPUR. +And I say the Earth was not of my mind, +If you suppose as fearing you it shook. + +GLENDOWER. +The heavens were all on fire, the Earth did tremble. + +HOTSPUR. +O, then th’ Earth shook to see the heavens on fire, +And not in fear of your nativity. +Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth +In strange eruptions; oft the teeming Earth +Is with a kind of colic pinch’d and vex’d +By the imprisoning of unruly wind +Within her womb, which for enlargement striving, +Shakes the old beldam Earth, and topples down +Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth +Our grandam Earth, having this distemp’rature, +In passion shook. + +GLENDOWER. +Cousin, of many men +I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave +To tell you once again that at my birth +The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, +The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds +Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. +These signs have mark’d me extraordinary, +And all the courses of my life do show +I am not in the roll of common men. +Where is he living, clipp’d in with the sea +That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, +Which calls me pupil or hath read to me? +And bring him out that is but woman’s son +Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, +And hold me pace in deep experiments. + +HOTSPUR. +I think there is no man speaks better Welsh. +I’ll to dinner. + +MORTIMER. +Peace, cousin Percy, you will make him mad. + +GLENDOWER. +I can call spirits from the vasty deep. + +HOTSPUR. +Why, so can I, or so can any man, +But will they come when you do call for them? + +GLENDOWER. +Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil. + +HOTSPUR. +And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil +By telling truth; tell truth, and shame the devil. +If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, +And I’ll be sworn I have power to shame him hence. +O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil! + +MORTIMER. +Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat. + +GLENDOWER. +Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head +Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye +And sandy-bottom’d Severn have I sent him +Bootless home and weather-beaten back. + +HOTSPUR. +Home without boots, and in foul weather too! +How ’scapes he agues, in the devil’s name! + +GLENDOWER. +Come, here’s the map, shall we divide our right +According to our threefold order ta’en? + +MORTIMER. +The archdeacon hath divided it +Into three limits very equally: +England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, +By south and east is to my part assign’d: +All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, +And all the fertile land within that bound, +To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you +The remnant northward lying off from Trent. +And our indentures tripartite are drawn, +Which being sealed interchangeably, +A business that this night may execute, +Tomorrow, cousin Percy, you and I, +And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth +To meet your father and the Scottish power, +As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. +My father Glendower is not ready yet, +Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days. +[_To Glendower._] Within that space you may have drawn together +Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. + +GLENDOWER. +A shorter time shall send me to you, lords, +And in my conduct shall your ladies come, +From whom you now must steal, and take no leave, +For there will be a world of water shed +Upon the parting of your wives and you. + +HOTSPUR. +Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here, +In quantity equals not one of yours. +See how this river comes me cranking in, +And cuts me from the best of all my land +A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. +I’ll have the current in this place dammed up, +And here the smug and silver Trent shall run +In a new channel, fair and evenly. +It shall not wind with such a deep indent, +To rob me of so rich a bottom here. + +GLENDOWER. +Not wind? It shall, it must. You see it doth. + +MORTIMER. +Yea, but mark how he bears his course, and runs me up +With like advantage on the other side, +Gelding the opposed continent as much +As on the other side it takes from you. + +WORCESTER. +Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, +And on this north side win this cape of land, +And then he runs straight and even. + +HOTSPUR. +I’ll have it so, a little charge will do it. + +GLENDOWER. +I’ll not have it altered. + +HOTSPUR. +Will not you? + +GLENDOWER. +No, nor you shall not. + +HOTSPUR. +Who shall say me nay? + +GLENDOWER. +Why, that will I. + +HOTSPUR. +Let me not understand you, then; speak it in Welsh. + +GLENDOWER. +I can speak English, lord, as well as you, +For I was train’d up in the English Court, +Where being but young I framed to the harp +Many an English ditty lovely well, +And gave the tongue a helpful ornament— +A virtue that was never seen in you. + +HOTSPUR. +Marry, and I am glad of it with all my heart. +I had rather be a kitten, and cry “mew” +Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers; +I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn’d, +Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree, +And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, +Nothing so much as mincing poetry. +’Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag. + +GLENDOWER. +Come, you shall have Trent turn’d. + +HOTSPUR. +I do not care. I’ll give thrice so much land +To any well-deserving friend; +But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, +I’ll cavil on the ninth part of a hair. +Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone? + +GLENDOWER. +The moon shines fair, you may away by night. +I’ll haste the writer, and withal +Break with your wives of your departure hence. +I am afraid my daughter will run mad, +So much she doteth on her Mortimer. + +[_Exit._] + +MORTIMER. +Fie, cousin Percy, how you cross my father! + +HOTSPUR. +I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers me +With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, +Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, +And of a dragon and a finless fish, +A clip-wing’d griffin and a moulten raven, +A couching lion and a ramping cat, +And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff +As puts me from my faith. I tell you what— +He held me last night at least nine hours +In reckoning up the several devils’ names +That were his lackeys: I cried “Hum,” and “Well, go to,” +But mark’d him not a word. O, he is as tedious +As a tired horse, a railing wife, +Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live +With cheese and garlic in a windmill, far, +Than feed on cates and have him talk to me +In any summer house in Christendom. + +MORTIMER. +In faith, he is a worthy gentleman, +Exceedingly well read, and profited +In strange concealments, valiant as a lion, +And wondrous affable, and as bountiful +As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin? +He holds your temper in a high respect +And curbs himself even of his natural scope +When you come cross his humour, faith, he does. +I warrant you that man is not alive +Might so have tempted him as you have done +Without the taste of danger and reproof: +But do not use it oft, let me entreat you. + +WORCESTER. +In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-blame, +And since your coming hither have done enough +To put him quite besides his patience. +You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault. +Though sometimes it show greatness, courage, blood— +And that’s the dearest grace it renders you— +Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage, +Defect of manners, want of government, +Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain, +The least of which haunting a nobleman +Loseth men’s hearts and leaves behind a stain +Upon the beauty of all parts besides, +Beguiling them of commendation. + +HOTSPUR. +Well, I am school’d. Good manners be your speed! +Here come our wives, and let us take our leave. + +Enter Glendower with Lady Mortimer and Lady Percy. + +MORTIMER. +This is the deadly spite that angers me, +My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh. + +GLENDOWER. +My daughter weeps, she’ll not part with you, +She’ll be a soldier too, she’ll to the wars. + +MORTIMER. +Good father, tell her that she and my aunt Percy +Shall follow in your conduct speedily. + +[_Glendower speaks to Lady Mortimer in Welsh, and she answers him in +the same._] + +GLENDOWER. +She is desperate here, a peevish self-willed harlotry, +One that no persuasion can do good upon. + +[_Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer in Welsh._] + +MORTIMER. +I understand thy looks, that pretty Welsh +Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens +I am too perfect in, and but for shame +In such a parley should I answer thee. + +[_Lady Mortimer speaks to him again in Welsh._] + +I understand thy kisses, and thou mine, +And that’s a feeling disputation, +But I will never be a truant, love, +Till I have learnt thy language; for thy tongue +Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn’d, +Sung by a fair queen in a summer’s bower, +With ravishing division, to her lute. + +GLENDOWER. +Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad. + +[_Lady Mortimer speaks to Mortimer again in Welsh._] + +MORTIMER. +O, I am ignorance itself in this! + +GLENDOWER. +She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down, +And rest your gentle head upon her lap, +And she will sing the song that pleaseth you, +And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep, +Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness, +Making such difference ’twixt wake and sleep +As is the difference betwixt day and night, +The hour before the heavenly-harness’d team +Begins his golden progress in the east. + +MORTIMER. +With all my heart I’ll sit and hear her sing, +By that time will our book, I think, be drawn. + +GLENDOWER. +Do so, and those musicians that shall play to you +Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence, +And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend. + +HOTSPUR. +Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down. +Come, quick, quick, that I may lay my head in thy lap. + +LADY PERCY. +Go, ye giddy goose. + +[_The music plays._] + +HOTSPUR. +Now I perceive the devil understands Welsh, +And ’tis no marvel he’s so humorous. +By’r Lady, he’s a good musician. + +LADY PERCY. +Then should you be nothing but musical, +For you are altogether governed by humours. +Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing in Welsh. + +HOTSPUR. +I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish. + +LADY PERCY. +Wouldst thou have thy head broken? + +HOTSPUR. +No. + +LADY PERCY. +Then be still. + +HOTSPUR. +Neither; ’tis a woman’s fault. + +LADY PERCY. +Now God help thee! + +HOTSPUR. +To the Welsh lady’s bed. + +LADY PERCY. +What’s that? + +HOTSPUR. +Peace, she sings. + +[_Here the lady sings a Welsh song._] + +Come, Kate, I’ll have your song too. + +LADY PERCY. +Not mine, in good sooth. + +HOTSPUR. +Not yours, in good sooth! Heart! you swear like a comfit-maker’s wife! +“Not you, in good sooth,” and “As true as I live,” and “As God shall +mend me,” and “As sure as day” +And givest such sarcenet surety for thy oaths +As if thou never walk’dst further than Finsbury. +Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art, +A good mouth-filling oath, and leave “In sooth,” +And such protest of pepper-gingerbread, +To velvet-guards and Sunday citizens. +Come, sing. + +LADY PERCY. +I will not sing. + +HOTSPUR. +’Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast-teacher. An the +indentures be drawn, I’ll away within these two hours; and so come in +when ye will. + +[_Exit._] + +GLENDOWER. +Come, come, Lord Mortimer, you are as slow +As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go. +By this our book is drawn. We’ll but seal, +And then to horse immediately. + +MORTIMER. +With all my heart. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. London. A Room in the Palace. + +Enter King Henry, Prince Henry and Lords. + +KING. +Lords, give us leave; the Prince of Wales and I +Must have some private conference: but be near at hand, +For we shall presently have need of you. + +[_Exeunt Lords._] + +I know not whether God will have it so +For some displeasing service I have done, +That, in His secret doom, out of my blood +He’ll breed revengement and a scourge for me; +But thou dost in thy passages of life +Make me believe that thou art only mark’d +For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven +To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else, +Could such inordinate and low desires, +Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, +Such barren pleasures, rude society, +As thou art match’d withal, and grafted to, +Accompany the greatness of thy blood, +And hold their level with thy princely heart? + +PRINCE. +So please your Majesty, I would I could +Quit all offences with as clear excuse +As well as I am doubtless I can purge +Myself of many I am charged withal. +Yet such extenuation let me beg +As, in reproof of many tales devised, +By smiling pickthanks and base newsmongers, +Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear, +I may for some things true, wherein my youth +Hath faulty wander’d and irregular, +Find pardon on my true submission. + +KING. +God pardon thee! Yet let me wonder, Harry, +At thy affections, which do hold a wing +Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. +Thy place in Council thou hast rudely lost, +Which by thy younger brother is supplied, +And art almost an alien to the hearts +Of all the court and princes of my blood. +The hope and expectation of thy time +Is ruin’d, and the soul of every man +Prophetically do forethink thy fall. +Had I so lavish of my presence been, +So common-hackney’d in the eyes of men, +So stale and cheap to vulgar company, +Opinion, that did help me to the crown, +Had still kept loyal to possession, +And left me in reputeless banishment, +A fellow of no mark nor likelihood. +By being seldom seen, I could not stir +But like a comet I was wonder’d at, +That men would tell their children, “This is he.” +Others would say, “Where, which is Bolingbroke?” +And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, +And dress’d myself in such humility +That I did pluck allegiance from men’s hearts, +Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, +Even in the presence of the crowned King. +Thus did I keep my person fresh and new, +My presence, like a robe pontifical, +Ne’er seen but wonder’d at, and so my state, +Seldom but sumptuous, showed like a feast, +And won by rareness such solemnity. +The skipping King, he ambled up and down +With shallow jesters and rash bavin wits, +Soon kindled and soon burnt; carded his state, +Mingled his royalty, with cap’ring fools, +Had his great name profaned with their scorns, +And gave his countenance, against his name, +To laugh at gibing boys, and stand the push +Of every beardless vain comparative; +Grew a companion to the common streets, +Enfeoff’d himself to popularity, +That, being daily swallow’d by men’s eyes, +They surfeited with honey, and began +To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little +More than a little is by much too much. +So, when he had occasion to be seen, +He was but as the cuckoo is in June, +Heard, not regarded; seen, but with such eyes +As, sick and blunted with community, +Afford no extraordinary gaze, +Such as is bent on sun-like majesty +When it shines seldom in admiring eyes, +But rather drowsed and hung their eyelids down, +Slept in his face, and render’d such aspect +As cloudy men use to their adversaries, +Being with his presence glutted, gorged, and full. +And in that very line, Harry, standest thou, +For thou hast lost thy princely privilege +With vile participation. Not an eye +But is a-weary of thy common sight, +Save mine, which hath desired to see thee more, +Which now doth that I would not have it do, +Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. + +PRINCE. +I shall hereafter, my thrice gracious lord, +Be more myself. + +KING. +For all the world +As thou art to this hour was Richard then +When I from France set foot at Ravenspurgh, +And even as I was then is Percy now. +Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot, +He hath more worthy interest to the state +Than thou, the shadow of succession. +For of no right, nor colour like to right, +He doth fill fields with harness in the realm, +Turns head against the lion’s armed jaws, +And, being no more in debt to years than thou, +Leads ancient lords and reverend bishops on +To bloody battles and to bruising arms. +What never-dying honour hath he got +Against renowned Douglas! whose high deeds, +Whose hot incursions and great name in arms, +Holds from all soldiers chief majority +And military title capital +Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Christ. +Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothes, +This infant warrior, in his enterprises +Discomfited great Douglas, ta’en him once, +Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, +To fill the mouth of deep defiance up, +And shake the peace and safety of our throne. +And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland, +The Archbishop’s Grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, +Capitulate against us and are up. +But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? +Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes, +Which art my nearest and dearest enemy? +Thou that art like enough, through vassal fear, +Base inclination, and the start of spleen, +To fight against me under Percy’s pay, +To dog his heels, and curtsy at his frowns, +To show how much thou art degenerate. + +PRINCE. +Do not think so, you shall not find it so. +And God forgive them that so much have sway’d +Your Majesty’s good thoughts away from me! +I will redeem all this on Percy’s head, +And, in the closing of some glorious day, +Be bold to tell you that I am your son, +When I will wear a garment all of blood, +And stain my favours in a bloody mask, +Which, wash’d away, shall scour my shame with it. +And that shall be the day, whene’er it lights, +That this same child of honour and renown, +This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight, +And your unthought-of Harry chance to meet. +For every honour sitting on his helm, +Would they were multitudes, and on my head +My shames redoubled! For the time will come, +That I shall make this northern youth exchange +His glorious deeds for my indignities. +Percy is but my factor, good my lord, +To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf, +And I will call him to so strict account +That he shall render every glory up, +Yea, even the slightest worship of his time, +Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart. +This in the name of God I promise here, +The which if He be pleased I shall perform, +I do beseech your Majesty may salve +The long-grown wounds of my intemperance. +If not, the end of life cancels all bands, +And I will die a hundred thousand deaths +Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow. + +KING. +A hundred thousand rebels die in this. +Thou shalt have charge and sovereign trust herein. + +Enter Sir Walter Blunt. + +How now, good Blunt? Thy looks are full of speed. + +BLUNT. +So hath the business that I come to speak of. +Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word +That Douglas and the English rebels met +The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury. +A mighty and a fearful head they are, +If promises be kept on every hand, +As ever offer’d foul play in a state. + +KING. +The Earl of Westmoreland set forth today, +With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster, +For this advertisement is five days old. +On Wednesday next you, Harry, shall set forward, +On Thursday we ourselves will march. +Our meeting is Bridgenorth. And, Harry, you +Shall march through Gloustershire; by which account, +Our business valued, some twelve days hence +Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet. +Our hands are full of business. Let’s away, +Advantage feeds him fat while men delay. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar’s Head Tavern. + +Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. + +FALSTAFF. +Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? Do I not +bate? Do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady’s +loose gown. I am withered like an old apple-john. Well, I’ll repent, +and that suddenly, while I am in some liking. I shall be out of heart +shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not +forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a peppercorn, a +brewer’s horse. The inside of a church! Company, villainous company, +hath been the spoil of me. + +BARDOLPH. +Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. + +FALSTAFF. +Why, there is it. Come, sing me a song, make me merry. I was as +virtuously given as a gentleman need to be, virtuous enough; swore +little; diced not above seven times—a week; went to a bawdy house not +above once in a quarter—in an hour; paid money that I borrowed—three or +four times; lived well and in good compass; and now I live out of all +order, out of all compass. + +BARDOLPH. +Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all +compass, out of all reasonable compass, Sir John. + +FALSTAFF. +Do thou amend thy face, and I’ll amend my life. Thou art our admiral, +thou bearest the lantern in the poop, but ’tis in the nose of thee. +Thou art the Knight of the Burning Lamp. + +BARDOLPH. +Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. + +FALSTAFF. +No, I’ll be sworn, I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a +death’s-head or a _memento mori_. I never see thy face but I think upon +hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple, for there he is in his +robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would +swear by thy face. My oath should be, “By this fire, that’s God’s +angel.” But thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for +the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran’st up +Gad’s Hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou +hadst been an _ignis fatuus_ or a ball of wildfire, there’s no purchase +in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting +bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and +torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but +the sack that thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good +cheap at the dearest chandler’s in Europe. I have maintained that +salamander of yours with fire any time this two-and-thirty years, God +reward me for it! + +BARDOLPH. +’Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! + +FALSTAFF. +God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heartburnt. + +Enter the Hostess. + +How now, Dame Partlet the hen, have you enquired yet who picked my +pocket? + +HOSTESS. +Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John, do you think I keep thieves +in my house? I have searched, I have enquired, so has my husband, man +by man, boy by boy, servant by servant. The tithe of a hair was never +lost in my house before. + +FALSTAFF. +Ye lie, hostess. Bardolph was shaved and lost many a hair, and I’ll be +sworn my pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go. + +HOSTESS. +Who, I? No; I defy thee: God’s light, I was never called so in mine own +house before. + +FALSTAFF. +Go to, I know you well enough. + +HOSTESS. +No, Sir John, you do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John, you +owe me money, Sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. +I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. + +FALSTAFF. +Dowlas, filthy dowlas. I have given them away to bakers’ wives; and +they have made bolters of them. + +HOSTESS. +Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe +money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings, and money +lent you, four-and-twenty pound. + +FALSTAFF. +He had his part of it, let him pay. + +HOSTESS. +He? Alas, he is poor, he hath nothing. + +FALSTAFF. +How? Poor? Look upon his face. What call you rich? Let them coin his +nose, let them coin his cheeks. I’ll not pay a denier. What, will you +make a younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn but I +shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my +grandfather’s worth forty mark. + +HOSTESS. +O Jesu, I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that +ring was copper. + +FALSTAFF. +How? The Prince is a Jack, a sneak-up. ’Sblood, an he were here, I +would cudgel him like a dog if he would say so. + +Enter Prince Henry with Peto, marching. Falstaff meets him, playing on +his truncheon like a fife. + +How now, lad? Is the wind in that door, i’faith? Must we all march? + +BARDOLPH. +Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. + +HOSTESS. +My lord, I pray you, hear me. + +PRINCE. +What say’st thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy husband? I love him +well; he is an honest man. + +HOSTESS. +Good my lord, hear me. + +FALSTAFF. +Prithee, let her alone, and list to me. + +PRINCE. +What say’st thou, Jack? + +FALSTAFF. +The other night I fell asleep here, behind the arras, and had my pocket +picked. This house is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets. + +PRINCE. +What didst thou lose, Jack? + +FALSTAFF. +Wilt thou believe me, Hal, three or four bonds of forty pound apiece +and a seal-ring of my grandfather’s. + +PRINCE. +A trifle, some eightpenny matter. + +HOSTESS. +So I told him, my lord, and I said I heard your Grace say so. And, my +lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is, +and said he would cudgel you. + +PRINCE. +What! he did not? + +HOSTESS. +There’s neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. + +FALSTAFF. +There’s no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, nor no more truth +in thee than in a drawn fox; and, for woman-hood, Maid Marian may be +the deputy’s wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. + +HOSTESS. +Say, what thing, what thing? + +FALSTAFF. +What thing? Why, a thing to thank God on. + +HOSTESS. +I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou shouldst know it! I am an +honest man’s wife, and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave +to call me so. + +FALSTAFF. +Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise. + +HOSTESS. +Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? + +FALSTAFF. +What beast? Why, an otter. + +PRINCE. +An otter, Sir John? Why an otter? + +FALSTAFF. +Why, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her. + +HOSTESS. +Thou art an unjust man in saying so, thou or any man knows where to +have me, thou knave, thou. + +PRINCE. +Thou say’st true, hostess, and he slanders thee most grossly. + +HOSTESS. +So he doth you, my lord, and said this other day you ought him a +thousand pound. + +PRINCE. +Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? + +FALSTAFF. + + +A thousand pound, Hal? A million. Thy love is worth a million; thou +owest me thy love. + +HOSTESS. +Nay, my lord, he call’d you Jack, and said he would cudgel you. + +FALSTAFF. +Did I, Bardolph? + +BARDOLPH. +Indeed, Sir John, you said so. + +FALSTAFF. +Yea, if he said my ring was copper. + +PRINCE. +I say ’tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now? + +FALSTAFF. +Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare, but as thou art +prince, I fear thee as I fear the roaring of the lion’s whelp. + +PRINCE. +And why not as the lion? + +FALSTAFF. +The King himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou think I’ll fear +thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God my girdle break. + +PRINCE. +O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, +there’s no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; +it is all filled up with midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking +thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there +were anything in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy +houses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar-candy to make thee +long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but +these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it, you will not +pocket up wrong. Art thou not ashamed! + +FALSTAFF. +Dost thou hear, Hal? Thou knowest in the state of innocency Adam fell, +and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou +seest I have more flesh than another man and therefore more frailty. +You confess, then, you picked my pocket? + +PRINCE. +It appears so by the story. + +FALSTAFF. +Hostess, I forgive thee. Go make ready breakfast, love thy husband, +look to thy servants, cherish thy guests. Thou shalt find me tractable +to any honest reason. Thou seest I am pacified still. Nay, prithee, be +gone. + +[_Exit Hostess._] + +Now, Hal, to the news at court. For the robbery, lad, how is that +answered? + +PRINCE. +O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee. The money is paid +back again. + +FALSTAFF. +O, I do not like that paying back, ’tis a double labour. + +PRINCE. +I am good friends with my father, and may do anything. + +FALSTAFF. +Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed +hands too. + +BARDOLPH. +Do, my lord. + +PRINCE. +I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. + +FALSTAFF. +I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal +well? O, for a fine thief, of the age of two-and-twenty or thereabouts! +I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels; they +offend none but the virtuous. I laud them, I praise them. + +PRINCE. +Bardolph! + +BARDOLPH. +My lord? + +PRINCE. +Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, +To my brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland. + +[_Exit Bardolph._] + +Go, Peto, to horse, to horse, for thou and I +Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner-time. + +[_Exit Peto._] + +Jack, meet me tomorrow in the Temple hall +At two o’clock in the afternoon; +There shalt thou know thy charge, and there receive +Money and order for their furniture. +The land is burning, Percy stands on high, +And either we or they must lower lie. + +[_Exit._] + +FALSTAFF. +Rare words! Brave world!—Hostess, my breakfast, come.— +O, I could wish this tavern were my drum. + +[_Exit._] + + + + +ACT IV + + +SCENE I. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. + +Enter Hotspur, Worcester and Douglas. + +HOTSPUR. +Well said, my noble Scot. If speaking truth +In this fine age were not thought flattery, +Such attribution should the Douglas have +As not a soldier of this season’s stamp +Should go so general current through the world. +By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy +The tongues of soothers, but a braver place +In my heart’s love hath no man than yourself. +Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord. + +DOUGLAS. +Thou art the king of honour. +No man so potent breathes upon the ground +But I will beard him. + +HOTSPUR. +Do so, and ’tis well. + +Enter a Messenger with letters. + +What letters hast thou there? I can but thank you. + +MESSENGER. +These letters come from your father. + +HOTSPUR. +Letters from him! Why comes he not himself? + +MESSENGER. +He cannot come, my lord, he is grievous sick. + +HOTSPUR. +Zounds, how has he the leisure to be sick +In such a justling time? Who leads his power? +Under whose government come they along? + +MESSENGER. +His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. + +WORCESTER. +I prithee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? + +MESSENGER. +He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth, +And at the time of my departure thence +He was much fear’d by his physicians. + +WORCESTER. +I would the state of time had first been whole +Ere he by sickness had been visited. +His health was never better worth than now. + +HOTSPUR. +Sick now? Droop now? This sickness doth infect +The very life-blood of our enterprise; +’Tis catching hither, even to our camp. +He writes me here, that inward sickness— +And that his friends by deputation could not +So soon be drawn, nor did he think it meet +To lay so dangerous and dear a trust +On any soul removed but on his own. +Yet doth he give us bold advertisement +That with our small conjunction we should on, +To see how fortune is disposed to us; +For, as he writes, there is no quailing now, +Because the King is certainly possess’d +Of all our purposes. What say you to it? + +WORCESTER. +Your father’s sickness is a maim to us. + +HOTSPUR. +A perilous gash, a very limb lopp’d off— +And yet, in faith, it is not! His present want +Seems more than we shall find it. Were it good +To set the exact wealth of all our states +All at one cast? To set so rich a main +On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? +It were not good, for therein should we read +The very bottom and the soul of hope, +The very list, the very utmost bound +Of all our fortunes. + +DOUGLAS. +Faith, and so we should, where now remains +A sweet reversion. We may boldly spend +Upon the hope of what is to come in. +A comfort of retirement lives in this. + +HOTSPUR. +A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, +If that the devil and mischance look big +Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. + +WORCESTER. +But yet I would your father had been here. +The quality and hair of our attempt +Brooks no division. It will be thought +By some that know not why he is away, +That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike +Of our proceedings, kept the Earl from hence. +And think how such an apprehension +May turn the tide of fearful faction, +And breed a kind of question in our cause. +For well you know we of the off’ring side +Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement, +And stop all sight-holes, every loop from whence +The eye of reason may pry in upon us. +This absence of your father’s draws a curtain +That shows the ignorant a kind of fear +Before not dreamt of. + +HOTSPUR. +You strain too far. +I rather of his absence make this use: +It lends a lustre and more great opinion, +A larger dare to our great enterprise, +Than if the Earl were here; for men must think +If we without his help can make a head +To push against the kingdom, with his help +We shall o’erturn it topsy-turvy down. +Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. + +DOUGLAS. +As heart can think. There is not such a word +Spoke in Scotland as this term of fear. + +Enter Sir Richard Vernon. + +HOTSPUR. +My cousin Vernon! Welcome, by my soul. + +VERNON. +Pray God my news be worth a welcome, lord. +The Earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, +Is marching hitherwards, with him Prince John. + +HOTSPUR. +No harm, what more? + +VERNON. +And further, I have learn’d +The King himself in person is set forth, +Or hitherwards intended speedily, +With strong and mighty preparation. + +HOTSPUR. +He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, +The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales, +And his comrades, that daffed the world aside +And bid it pass? + +VERNON. +All furnish’d, all in arms; +All plumed like estridges that with the wind +Bated like eagles having lately bathed, +Glittering in golden coats, like images, +As full of spirit as the month of May, +And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer; +Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. +I saw young Harry with his beaver on, +His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm’d, +Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury, +And vaulted with such ease into his seat +As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds, +To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, +And witch the world with noble horsemanship. + +HOTSPUR. +No more, no more! Worse than the sun in March, +This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come! +They come like sacrifices in their trim, +And to the fire-eyed maid of smoky war +All hot and bleeding will we offer them. +The mailed Mars shall on his altar sit +Up to the ears in blood. I am on fire +To hear this rich reprisal is so nigh, +And yet not ours. Come, let me taste my horse, +Who is to bear me like a thunderbolt +Against the bosom of the Prince of Wales. +Harry to Harry shall, hot horse to horse, +Meet and ne’er part till one drop down a corse. +O, that Glendower were come! + +VERNON. +There is more news. +I learn’d in Worcester, as I rode along, +He cannot draw his power this fourteen days. + +DOUGLAS. +That’s the worst tidings that I hear of yet. + +WORCESTER. +Ay, by my faith, that bears a frosty sound. + +HOTSPUR. +What may the King’s whole battle reach unto? + +VERNON. +To thirty thousand. + +HOTSPUR. +Forty let it be. +My father and Glendower being both away, +The powers of us may serve so great a day. +Come, let us take a muster speedily. +Doomsday is near; die all, die merrily. + +DOUGLAS. +Talk not of dying. I am out of fear +Of death or death’s hand for this one half year. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. A public Road near Coventry. + +Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. + +FALSTAFF. +Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of sack. Our +soldiers shall march through; we’ll to Sutton Co’fil’ tonight. + +BARDOLPH. +Will you give me money, captain? + +FALSTAFF. +Lay out, lay out. + +BARDOLPH. +This bottle makes an angel. + +FALSTAFF. +An if it do, take it for thy labour. An if it make twenty, take them +all, I’ll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at town’s +end. + +BARDOLPH. +I will, captain: farewell. + +[_Exit._] + +FALSTAFF. +If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet. I have +misused the King’s press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred +and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but +good householders, yeomen’s sons, inquire me out contracted bachelors, +such as had been asked twice on the banns, such a commodity of warm +slaves as had as lief hear the devil as a drum, such as fear the report +of a caliver worse than a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I pressed me +none but such toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger +than pins’ heads, and they have bought out their services; and now my +whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of +companies—slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the +glutton’s dogs licked his sores; and such as indeed were never +soldiers, but discarded unjust servingmen, younger sons to younger +brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a +calm world and a long peace, ten times more dishonourable-ragged than +an old fazed ancient; and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that +have bought out their services, that you would think that I had a +hundred and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from swine-keeping, +from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told +me I had unloaded all the gibbets and pressed the dead bodies. No eye +hath seen such scarecrows. I’ll not march through Coventry with them, +that’s flat. Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs as if +they had gyves on, for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. +There’s not a shirt and a half in all my company, and the half shirt is +two napkins tacked together and thrown over the shoulders like a +herald’s coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen +from my host at Saint Albans, or the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. +But that’s all one; they’ll find linen enough on every hedge. + +Enter Prince Henry and the Lord of Westmoreland. + +PRINCE. +How now, blown Jack? How now, quilt? + +FALSTAFF. +What, Hal! How now, mad wag? What a devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My +good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy. I thought your honour had +already been at Shrewsbury. + +WESTMORELAND. +Faith, Sir John, ’tis more than time that I were there, and you too, +but my powers are there already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us +all. We must away all night. + +FALSTAFF. +Tut, never fear me. I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream. + +PRINCE. +I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath already made thee +butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these that come after? + +FALSTAFF. +Mine, Hal, mine. + +PRINCE. +I did never see such pitiful rascals. + +FALSTAFF. +Tut, tut, good enough to toss; food for powder, food for powder, +they’ll fill a pit as well as better. Tush, man, mortal men, mortal +men. + +WESTMORELAND. +Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare, too +beggarly. + +FALSTAFF. +Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and for their +bareness, I am sure they never learned that of me. + +PRINCE. +No, I’ll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the ribs bare. But, +sirrah, make haste. Percy is already in the field. + +[_Exit._] + +FALSTAFF. +What, is the King encamped? + +WESTMORELAND. +He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long. + +[_Exit._] + +FALSTAFF. +Well, +To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast +Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE III. The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury. + +Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Douglas and Vernon. + +HOTSPUR. +We’ll fight with him tonight. + +WORCESTER. +It may not be. + +DOUGLAS. +You give him then advantage. + +VERNON. +Not a whit. + +HOTSPUR. +Why say you so? Looks he not for supply? + +VERNON. +So do we. + +HOTSPUR. +His is certain, ours is doubtful. + +WORCESTER. +Good cousin, be advised, stir not tonight. + +VERNON. +Do not, my lord. + +DOUGLAS. +You do not counsel well. +You speak it out of fear and cold heart. + +VERNON. +Do me no slander, Douglas; by my life, +And I dare well maintain it with my life, +If well-respected honour bid me on, +I hold as little counsel with weak fear +As you, my lord, or any Scot that this day lives. +Let it be seen tomorrow in the battle +Which of us fears. + +DOUGLAS. +Yea, or tonight. + +VERNON. +Content. + +HOTSPUR. +Tonight, say I. + +VERNON. +Come, come, it may not be. I wonder much, +Being men of such great leading as you are, +That you foresee not what impediments +Drag back our expedition. Certain horse +Of my cousin Vernon’s are not yet come up. +Your uncle Worcester’s horse came but today, +And now their pride and mettle is asleep, +Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, +That not a horse is half the half himself. + +HOTSPUR. +So are the horses of the enemy +In general, journey-bated and brought low. +The better part of ours are full of rest. + +WORCESTER. +The number of the King exceedeth ours. +For God’s sake, cousin, stay till all come in. + +[_The trumpet sounds a parley._] + +Enter Sir Walter Blunt. + +BLUNT. +I come with gracious offers from the King, +If you vouchsafe me hearing and respect. + +HOTSPUR. +Welcome, Sir Walter Blunt, and would to God +You were of our determination! +Some of us love you well, and even those some +Envy your great deservings and good name, +Because you are not of our quality, +But stand against us like an enemy. + +BLUNT. +And God defend but still I should stand so, +So long as out of limit and true rule +You stand against anointed majesty. +But to my charge. The King hath sent to know +The nature of your griefs, and whereupon +You conjure from the breast of civil peace +Such bold hostility, teaching his duteous land +Audacious cruelty. If that the King +Have any way your good deserts forgot, +Which he confesseth to be manifold, +He bids you name your griefs, and with all speed +You shall have your desires with interest +And pardon absolute for yourself and these +Herein misled by your suggestion. + +HOTSPUR. +The King is kind, and well we know the King +Knows at what time to promise, when to pay. +My father and my uncle and myself +Did give him that same royalty he wears, +And when he was not six-and-twenty strong, +Sick in the world’s regard, wretched and low, +A poor unminded outlaw sneaking home, +My father gave him welcome to the shore: +And when he heard him swear and vow to God +He came but to be Duke of Lancaster, +To sue his livery, and beg his peace +With tears of innocence and terms of zeal, +My father, in kind heart and pity moved, +Swore him assistance, and performed it too. +Now, when the lords and barons of the realm +Perceived Northumberland did lean to him, +The more and less came in with cap and knee, +Met him in boroughs, cities, villages, +Attended him on bridges, stood in lanes, +Laid gifts before him, proffer’d him their oaths, +Give him their heirs as pages, follow’d him +Even at the heels in golden multitudes. +He presently, as greatness knows itself, +Steps me a little higher than his vow +Made to my father while his blood was poor +Upon the naked shore at Ravenspurgh; +And now forsooth takes on him to reform +Some certain edicts and some strait decrees +That lie too heavy on the commonwealth; +Cries out upon abuses, seems to weep +Over his country’s wrongs; and by this face, +This seeming brow of justice, did he win +The hearts of all that he did angle for; +Proceeded further—cut me off the heads +Of all the favourites that the absent King +In deputation left behind him here +When he was personal in the Irish war. + +BLUNT. +Tut, I came not to hear this. + +HOTSPUR. +Then to the point. +In short time after, he deposed the King, +Soon after that deprived him of his life, +And, in the neck of that, task’d the whole state. +To make that worse, suffer’d his kinsman March +(Who is, if every owner were well placed, +Indeed his king) to be engaged in Wales, +There without ransom to lie forfeited; +Disgraced me in my happy victories, +Sought to entrap me by intelligence, +Rated mine uncle from the Council-board, +In rage dismiss’d my father from the court, +Broke oath on oath, committed wrong on wrong, +And in conclusion drove us to seek out +This head of safety, and withal to pry +Into his title, the which now we find +Too indirect for long continuance. + +BLUNT. +Shall I return this answer to the King? + +HOTSPUR. +Not so, Sir Walter. We’ll withdraw awhile. +Go to the King, and let there be impawn’d +Some surety for a safe return again, +And in the morning early shall my uncle +Bring him our purposes. And so, farewell. + +BLUNT. +I would you would accept of grace and love. + +HOTSPUR. +And maybe so we shall. + +BLUNT. +Pray God you do. + +[_Exeunt._] + +SCENE IV. York. A Room in the Archbishop’s Palace. + +Enter the Archbishop of York and Sir Michael. + +ARCHBISHOP. +Hie, good Sir Michael; bear this sealed brief +With winged haste to the Lord Marshal, +This to my cousin Scroop, and all the rest +To whom they are directed. If you knew +How much they do import, you would make haste. + +SIR MICHAEL. +My good lord, +I guess their tenour. + +ARCHBISHOP. +Like enough you do. +Tomorrow, good Sir Michael, is a day +Wherein the fortune of ten thousand men +Must bide the touch; for, sir, at Shrewsbury, +As I am truly given to understand, +The King with mighty and quick-raised power +Meets with Lord Harry. And, I fear, Sir Michael, +What with the sickness of Northumberland, +Whose power was in the first proportion, +And what with Owen Glendower’s absence thence, +Who with them was a rated sinew too, +And comes not in, o’er-rul’d by prophecies, +I fear the power of Percy is too weak +To wage an instant trial with the King. + +SIR MICHAEL. +Why, my good lord, you need not fear, +There is Douglas and Lord Mortimer. + +ARCHBISHOP. +No, Mortimer is not there. + +SIR MICHAEL. +But there is Mordake, Vernon, Lord Harry Percy, +And there is my Lord of Worcester, and a head +Of gallant warriors, noble gentlemen. + +ARCHBISHOP. +And so there is. But yet the King hath drawn +The special head of all the land together: +The Prince of Wales, Lord John of Lancaster, +The noble Westmoreland, and warlike Blunt, +And many more corrivals and dear men +Of estimation and command in arms. + +SIR MICHAEL. +Doubt not, my lord, they shall be well opposed. + +ARCHBISHOP. +I hope no less, yet needful ’tis to fear; +And to prevent the worst, Sir Michael, speed. +For if Lord Percy thrive not, ere the King +Dismiss his power he means to visit us, +For he hath heard of our confederacy, +And ’tis but wisdom to make strong against him. +Therefore make haste. I must go write again +To other friends; and so, farewell, Sir Michael. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +ACT V + + +SCENE I. The King’s Camp near Shrewsbury. + +Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, Sir Walter Blunt and Sir +John Falstaff. + +KING. +How bloodily the sun begins to peer +Above yon bulky hill! The day looks pale +At his distemp’rature. + +PRINCE. +The southern wind +Doth play the trumpet to his purposes, +And by his hollow whistling in the leaves +Foretells a tempest and a blust’ring day. + +KING. +Then with the losers let it sympathize, +For nothing can seem foul to those that win. + +[_The trumpet sounds_.] + +Enter Worcester and Vernon. + +How, now, my Lord of Worcester! ’Tis not well +That you and I should meet upon such terms +As now we meet. You have deceived our trust, +And made us doff our easy robes of peace, +To crush our old limbs in ungentle steel. +This is not well, my lord, this is not well. +What say you to it? Will you again unknit +This churlish knot of all-abhorred war, +And move in that obedient orb again +Where you did give a fair and natural light, +And be no more an exhaled meteor, +A prodigy of fear, and a portent +Of broached mischief to the unborn times? + +WORCESTER. +Hear me, my liege: +For mine own part, I could be well content +To entertain the lag end of my life +With quiet hours. For I do protest +I have not sought the day of this dislike. + +KING. +You have not sought it? How comes it, then? + +FALSTAFF. +Rebellion lay in his way, and he found it. + +PRINCE. +Peace, chewet, peace! + +WORCESTER. +It pleased your Majesty to turn your looks +Of favour from myself and all our house; +And yet I must remember you, my lord, +We were the first and dearest of your friends. +For you my staff of office did I break +In Richard’s time, and posted day and night +To meet you on the way, and kiss your hand, +When yet you were in place and in account +Nothing so strong and fortunate as I. +It was myself, my brother, and his son, +That brought you home, and boldly did outdare +The dangers of the time. You swore to us, +And you did swear that oath at Doncaster, +That you did nothing purpose ’gainst the state, +Nor claim no further than your new-fall’n right, +The seat of Gaunt, dukedom of Lancaster. +To this we swore our aid. But in short space +It rain’d down fortune show’ring on your head, +And such a flood of greatness fell on you, +What with our help, what with the absent King, +What with the injuries of a wanton time, +The seeming sufferances that you had borne, +And the contrarious winds that held the King +So long in his unlucky Irish wars +That all in England did repute him dead: +And from this swarm of fair advantages +You took occasion to be quickly woo’d +To gripe the general sway into your hand, +Forgot your oath to us at Doncaster; +And, being fed by us, you used us so +As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo’s bird, +Useth the sparrow—did oppress our nest, +Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk +That even our love durst not come near your sight +For fear of swallowing; but with nimble wing +We were enforced, for safety sake to fly +Out of your sight, and raise this present head, +Whereby we stand opposed by such means +As you yourself have forged against yourself, +By unkind usage, dangerous countenance, +And violation of all faith and troth +Sworn to us in your younger enterprise. + +KING. +These things, indeed, you have articulate, +Proclaim’d at market crosses, read in churches, +To face the garment of rebellion +With some fine colour that may please the eye +Of fickle changelings and poor discontents, +Which gape and rub the elbow at the news +Of hurlyburly innovation. +And never yet did insurrection want +Such water-colours to impaint his cause, +Nor moody beggars starving for a time +Of pellmell havoc and confusion. + +PRINCE. +In both your armies there is many a soul +Shall pay full dearly for this encounter +If once they join in trial. Tell your nephew, +The Prince of Wales doth join with all the world +In praise of Henry Percy. By my hopes, +This present enterprise set off his head, +I do not think a braver gentleman, +More active-valiant or more valiant-young, +More daring or more bold, is now alive +To grace this latter age with noble deeds. +For my part, I may speak it to my shame, +I have a truant been to chivalry, +And so I hear he doth account me too. +Yet this before my father’s Majesty— +I am content that he shall take the odds +Of his great name and estimation, +And will, to save the blood on either side, +Try fortune with him in a single fight. + +KING. +And, Prince of Wales, so dare we venture thee, +Albeit considerations infinite +Do make against it.—No, good Worcester, no. +We love our people well, even those we love +That are misled upon your cousin’s part, +And, will they take the offer of our grace, +Both he, and they, and you, yea, every man +Shall be my friend again, and I’ll be his. +So tell your cousin, and then bring me word +What he will do. But if he will not yield, +Rebuke and dread correction wait on us, +And they shall do their office. So, be gone; +We will not now be troubled with reply. +We offer fair, take it advisedly. + +[_Exit Worcester with Vernon._] + +PRINCE. +It will not be accepted, on my life. +The Douglas and the Hotspur both together +Are confident against the world in arms. + +KING. +Hence, therefore, every leader to his charge; +For on their answer, will we set on them, +And God befriend us as our cause is just! + +[_Exeunt the King, Blunt and Prince John._] + +FALSTAFF. +Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so; ’tis a +point of friendship. + +PRINCE. +Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship. +Say thy prayers, and farewell. + +FALSTAFF. +I would ’twere bedtime, Hal, and all well. + +PRINCE. +Why, thou owest God a death. + +[_Exit._] + +FALSTAFF. +’Tis not due yet, I would be loth to pay Him before His day. What need +I be so forward with Him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter, +honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come +on? How then? Can honor set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away +the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then? No. +What is honour? A word. What is in that word, “honour”? What is that +“honour”? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o’ +Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be hear it? No. ’Tis insensible, +then? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why? +Detraction will not suffer it. Therefore I’ll none of it. Honour is a +mere scutcheon. And so ends my catechism. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE II. The Rebel Camp. + +Enter Worcester and Vernon. + +WORCESTER. +O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard, +The liberal and kind offer of the King. + +VERNON. +’Twere best he did. + +WORCESTER. +Then are we all undone. +It is not possible, it cannot be, +The King should keep his word in loving us; +He will suspect us still, and find a time +To punish this offence in other faults. +Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes, +For treason is but trusted like the fox, +Who, ne’er so tame, so cherish’d and lock’d up, +Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. +Look how we can, or sad or merrily, +Interpretation will misquote our looks, +And we shall feed like oxen at a stall, +The better cherish’d still the nearer death. +My nephew’s trespass may be well forgot, +It hath the excuse of youth and heat of blood, +And an adopted name of privilege— +A hare-brain’d Hotspur, govern’d by a spleen. +All his offences live upon my head +And on his father’s. We did train him on, +And, his corruption being ta’en from us, +We as the spring of all shall pay for all. +Therefore, good cousin, let not Harry know +In any case the offer of the King. + +VERNON. +Deliver what you will, I’ll say ’tis so. +Here comes your cousin. + +Enter Hotspur and Douglas; Officers and Soldiers behind. + +HOTSPUR. +My uncle is return’d. +Deliver up my Lord of Westmoreland. +Uncle, what news? + +WORCESTER. +The King will bid you battle presently. + +DOUGLAS. +Defy him by the Lord Of Westmoreland. + +HOTSPUR. +Lord Douglas, go you and tell him so. + +DOUGLAS. +Marry, I shall, and very willingly. + +[_Exit._] + +WORCESTER. +There is no seeming mercy in the King. + +HOTSPUR. +Did you beg any? God forbid! + +WORCESTER. +I told him gently of our grievances, +Of his oath-breaking; which he mended thus, +By now forswearing that he is forsworn. +He calls us rebels, traitors, and will scourge +With haughty arms this hateful name in us. + +Enter Douglas. + +DOUGLAS. +Arm, gentlemen; to arms! For I have thrown +A brave defiance in King Henry’s teeth, +And Westmoreland, that was engaged, did bear it, +Which cannot choose but bring him quickly on. + +WORCESTER. +The Prince of Wales stepp’d forth before the King, +And, nephew, challenged you to single fight. + +HOTSPUR. +O, would the quarrel lay upon our heads, +And that no man might draw short breath today +But I and Harry Monmouth! Tell me, tell me, +How show’d his tasking? Seem’d it in contempt? + +VERNON. +No, by my soul. I never in my life +Did hear a challenge urged more modestly, +Unless a brother should a brother dare +To gentle exercise and proof of arms. +He gave you all the duties of a man, +Trimm’d up your praises with a princely tongue, +Spoke your deservings like a chronicle, +Making you ever better than his praise +By still dispraising praise valued with you, +And, which became him like a prince indeed, +He made a blushing cital of himself, +And chid his truant youth with such a grace +As if he master’d there a double spirit +Of teaching and of learning instantly. +There did he pause: but let me tell the world, +If he outlive the envy of this day, +England did never owe so sweet a hope +So much misconstrued in his wantonness. + +HOTSPUR. +Cousin, I think thou art enamoured +Upon his follies. Never did I hear +Of any prince so wild a liberty. +But be he as he will, yet once ere night +I will embrace him with a soldier’s arm, +That he shall shrink under my courtesy. +Arm, arm with speed! And, fellows, soldiers, friends, +Better consider what you have to do +Than I that have not well the gift of tongue +Can lift your blood up with persuasion. + +Enter a Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +My lord, here are letters for you. + +HOTSPUR. +I cannot read them now.— +O gentlemen, the time of life is short! +To spend that shortness basely were too long +If life did ride upon a dial’s point, +Still ending at the arrival of an hour. +And if we live, we live to tread on kings; +If die, brave death, when princes die with us! +Now, for our consciences, the arms are fair +When the intent of bearing them is just. + +Enter another Messenger. + +MESSENGER. +My lord, prepare. The King comes on apace. + +HOTSPUR. +I thank him that he cuts me from my tale, +For I profess not talking. Only this: +Let each man do his best. And here draw I +A sword whose temper I intend to stain +With the best blood that I can meet withal +In the adventure of this perilous day. +Now, Esperance! Percy! And set on. +Sound all the lofty instruments of war, +And by that music let us all embrace, +For, Heaven to Earth, some of us never shall +A second time do such a courtesy. + +[_The trumpets sound. They embrace, and exeunt._] + +SCENE III. Plain between the Camps. + +The King enters with his power. Alarum to the battle. Then enter +Douglas and Sir Walter Blunt. + +BLUNT. +What is thy name that in the battle thus +Thou crossest me? What honour dost thou seek +Upon my head? + +DOUGLAS. +Know then my name is Douglas, +And I do haunt thee in the battle thus +Because some tell me that thou art a king. + +BLUNT. +They tell thee true. + +DOUGLAS. +The Lord of Stafford dear today hath bought +Thy likeness, for instead of thee, King Harry, +This sword hath ended him. So shall it thee, +Unless thou yield thee as my prisoner. + +BLUNT. +I was not born a yielder, thou proud Scot, +And thou shalt find a king that will revenge +Lord Stafford’s death. + +[_They fight, and Blunt is slain._] + +Enter Hotspur. + +HOTSPUR. +O Douglas, hadst thou fought at Holmedon thus, +I never had triumphed upon a Scot. + +DOUGLAS. +All’s done, all’s won; here breathless lies the King. + +HOTSPUR. +Where? + +DOUGLAS. +Here. + +HOTSPUR. +This, Douglas? No, I know this face full well. +A gallant knight he was, his name was Blunt, +Semblably furnish’d like the King himself. + +DOUGLAS. +A fool go with thy soul, whither it goes! +A borrow’d title hast thou bought too dear. +Why didst thou tell me that thou wert a king? + +HOTSPUR. +The King hath many marching in his coats. + +DOUGLAS. +Now, by my sword, I will kill all his coats; +I’ll murder all his wardrobe, piece by piece, +Until I meet the King. + +HOTSPUR. +Up, and away! +Our soldiers stand full fairly for the day. + +[_Exeunt._] + +Alarums. Enter Falstaff solus. + +FALSTAFF. +Though I could scape shot-free at London, I fear the shot here. Here’s +no scoring but upon the pate.—Soft! who are you? Sir Walter Blunt. +There’s honour for you. Here’s no vanity. I am as hot as molten lead, +and as heavy too. God keep lead out of me, I need no more weight than +mine own bowels. I have led my ragamuffins where they are peppered. +There’s not three of my hundred and fifty left alive, and they are for +the town’s end, to beg during life. But who comes here? + +Enter Prince Henry. + +PRINCE. +What, stand’st thou idle here? Lend me thy sword. +Many a nobleman lies stark and stiff +Under the hoofs of vaunting enemies, +Whose deaths are yet unrevenged. I prithee +Lend me thy sword. + +FALSTAFF. +O Hal, I prithee give me leave to breathe awhile. Turk Gregory never +did such deeds in arms as I have done this day. I have paid Percy, I +have made him sure. + +PRINCE. +He is indeed, and living to kill thee. +I prithee, lend me thy sword. + +FALSTAFF. +Nay, before God, Hal, if Percy be alive, thou gett’st not my sword; but +take my pistol, if thou wilt. + +PRINCE. +Give it me. What, is it in the case? + +FALSTAFF. +Ay, Hal, ’tis hot, ’tis hot. There’s that will sack a city. + +[_The Prince draws out a bottle of sack._] + +PRINCE. +What, is it a time to jest and dally now? + +[_Throws it at him, and exit._] + +FALSTAFF. +Well, if Percy be alive, I’ll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; +if he do not, if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of +me. I like not such grinning honour as Sir Walter hath. Give me life, +which if I can save, so: if not, honour comes unlooked for, and there’s +an end. + +[_Exit._] + +SCENE IV. Another Part of the Field. + +Alarums. Excursions. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster and +Westmoreland. + +KING. +I prithee, Harry, withdraw thyself, thou bleedest too much. +Lord John of Lancaster, go you with him. + +LANCASTER. +Not I, my lord, unless I did bleed too. + +PRINCE. +I do beseech your Majesty, make up, +Lest your retirement do amaze your friends. + +KING. +I will do so. My Lord of Westmoreland, +Lead him to his tent. + +WESTMORELAND. +Come, my lord, I’ll lead you to your tent. + +PRINCE. +Lead me, my lord? I do not need your help, +And God forbid a shallow scratch should drive +The Prince of Wales from such a field as this, +Where stain’d nobility lies trodden on, +And rebels’ arms triumph in massacres! + +LANCASTER. +We breathe too long. Come, cousin Westmoreland, +Our duty this way lies. For God’s sake, come. + +[_Exeunt Lancaster and Westmoreland._] + +PRINCE. +By Heaven, thou hast deceived me, Lancaster, +I did not think thee lord of such a spirit. +Before, I loved thee as a brother, John, +But now I do respect thee as my soul. + +KING. +I saw him hold Lord Percy at the point +With lustier maintenance than I did look for +Of such an ungrown warrior. + +PRINCE. +O, this boy +Lends mettle to us all! + +[_Exit._] + +Enter Douglas. + +DOUGLAS. +Another king! They grow like Hydra’s heads. +I am the Douglas, fatal to all those +That wear those colours on them. What art thou +That counterfeit’st the person of a king? + +KING. +The King himself, who, Douglas, grieves at heart +So many of his shadows thou hast met, +And not the very King. I have two boys +Seek Percy and thyself about the field, +But, seeing thou fall’st on me so luckily, +I will assay thee, and defend thyself. + +DOUGLAS. +I fear thou art another counterfeit, +And yet, in faith, thou bearest thee like a king. +But mine I am sure thou art, whoe’er thou be, +And thus I win thee. + +They fight; the King being in danger, enter Prince Henry. + +PRINCE. +Hold up thy head, vile Scot, or thou art like +Never to hold it up again! The spirits +Of valiant Shirley, Stafford, Blunt are in my arms. +It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee, +Who never promiseth but he means to pay. + +[_They fight. Douglas flies._] + +Cheerly, my lord. How fares your Grace? +Sir Nicholas Gawsey hath for succour sent, +And so hath Clifton. I’ll to Clifton straight. + +KING. +Stay and breathe awhile. +Thou hast redeem’d thy lost opinion, +And show’d thou mak’st some tender of my life, +In this fair rescue thou hast brought to me. + +PRINCE. +O God, they did me too much injury +That ever said I hearken’d for your death. +If it were so, I might have let alone +The insulting hand of Douglas over you, +Which would have been as speedy in your end +As all the poisonous potions in the world, +And saved the treacherous labour of your son. + +KING. +Make up to Clifton. I’ll to Sir Nicholas Gawsey. + +[_Exit._] + +Enter Hotspur. + +HOTSPUR. +If I mistake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. + +PRINCE. +Thou speak’st as if I would deny my name. + +HOTSPUR. +My name is Harry Percy. + +PRINCE. +Why then I see +A very valiant rebel of the name. +I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, +To share with me in glory any more. +Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere, +Nor can one England brook a double reign, +Of Harry Percy and the Prince of Wales. + +HOTSPUR. +Nor shall it, Harry, for the hour is come +To end the one of us, and would to God +Thy name in arms were now as great as mine! + +PRINCE. +I’ll make it greater ere I part from thee, +And all the budding honours on thy crest +I’ll crop to make a garland for my head. + +HOTSPUR. +I can no longer brook thy vanities. + +[_They fight._] + +Enter Falstaff. + +FALSTAFF. +Well said, Hal! To it, Hal! Nay, you shall find no boy’s play here, I +can tell you. + +Enter Douglas. He fights with Falstaff, who falls down as if he were +dead, and exit Douglas. The Prince kills Hotspur. + +HOTSPUR. +O Harry, thou hast robb’d me of my youth! +I better brook the loss of brittle life +Than those proud titles thou hast won of me; +They wound my thoughts worse than thy sword my flesh. +But thoughts, the slaves of life, and life, time’s fool, +And time, that takes survey of all the world, +Must have a stop. O, I could prophesy, +But that the earthy and cold hand of death +Lies on my tongue. No, Percy, thou art dust, +And food for— + +[_Dies._] + +PRINCE. +For worms, brave Percy. Fare thee well, great heart! +Ill-weaved ambition, how much art thou shrunk! +When that this body did contain a spirit, +A kingdom for it was too small a bound; +But now two paces of the vilest earth +Is room enough. This earth that bears thee dead +Bears not alive so stout a gentleman. +If thou wert sensible of courtesy, +I should not make so dear a show of zeal. +But let my favours hide thy mangled face; +And even in thy behalf I’ll thank myself +For doing these fair rites of tenderness. +Adieu, and take thy praise with thee to heaven! +Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave, +But not remember’d in thy epitaph! + +[_Sees Falstaff on the ground._] + +What, old acquaintance, could not all this flesh +Keep in a little life? Poor Jack, farewell! +I could have better spared a better man. +O, I should have a heavy miss of thee +If I were much in love with vanity. +Death hath not struck so fat a deer today, +Though many dearer, in this bloody fray. +Embowell’d will I see thee by and by, +Till then in blood by noble Percy lie. + +[_Exit._] + +Falstaff rises up. + +FALSTAFF. +Embowell’d! If thou embowel me today, I’ll give you leave to powder me +and eat me too tomorrow. ’Sblood, ’twas time to counterfeit, or that +hot termagant Scot had paid me scot and lot too. Counterfeit? I lie, I +am no counterfeit. To die, is to be a counterfeit, for he is but the +counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit +dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true +and perfect image of life indeed. The better part of valour is +discretion, in the which better part I have saved my life. Zounds, I am +afraid of this gunpowder Percy, though he be dead. How if he should +counterfeit too, and rise? By my faith, I am afraid he would prove the +better counterfeit. Therefore I’ll make him sure, yea, and I’ll swear I +killed him. Why may not he rise as well as I? Nothing confutes me but +eyes, and nobody sees me. Therefore, sirrah, with a new wound in your +thigh, come you along with me. + +[_Takes Hotspur on his back._] + +Enter Prince Henry and Lancaster. + +PRINCE. +Come, brother John, full bravely hast thou flesh’d +Thy maiden sword. + +LANCASTER. +But soft, whom have we here? +Did you not tell me this fat man was dead? + +PRINCE. +I did; I saw him dead, +Breathless and bleeding on the ground.—Art thou alive? +Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eyesight? +I prithee, speak, we will not trust our eyes +Without our ears. Thou art not what thou seem’st. + +FALSTAFF. +No, that’s certain, I am not a double man. But if I be not Jack +Falstaff, then am I a Jack. There is Percy! [_Throwing the body down._] +If your father will do me any honour, so; if not, let him kill the next +Percy himself. I look to be either earl or duke, I can assure you. + +PRINCE. +Why, Percy I kill’d myself, and saw thee dead. + +FALSTAFF. +Didst thou? Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying! I grant you I +was down and out of breath, and so was he, but we rose both at an +instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock. If I may be +believed, so; if not, let them that should reward valour bear the sin +upon their own heads. I’ll take it upon my death, I gave him this wound +in the thigh. If the man were alive, and would deny it, zounds, I would +make him eat a piece of my sword. + +LANCASTER. +This is the strangest tale that ever I heard. + +PRINCE. +This is the strangest fellow, brother John.— +Come, bring your luggage nobly on your back. +For my part, if a lie may do thee grace, +I’ll gild it with the happiest terms I have. + +[_A retreat is sounded._] + +The trumpet sounds retreat; the day is ours. +Come, brother, let us to the highest of the field, +To see what friends are living, who are dead. + +[_Exeunt Prince Henry and Lancaster._] + +FALSTAFF. +I’ll follow, as they say, for reward. He that rewards me, God reward +him! If I do grow great, I’ll grow less, for I’ll purge, and leave +sack, and live cleanly as a nobleman should do. + +[_Exit, bearing off the body._] + +SCENE V. Another Part of the Field. + +The trumpets sound. Enter King Henry, Prince Henry, Lancaster, +Westmoreland and others, with Worcester and Vernon prisoners. + +KING. +Thus ever did rebellion find rebuke. +Ill-spirited Worcester, did not we send grace, +Pardon, and terms of love to all of you? +And wouldst thou turn our offers contrary? +Misuse the tenour of thy kinsman’s trust? +Three knights upon our party slain today, +A noble earl, and many a creature else, +Had been alive this hour, +If, like a Christian, thou hadst truly borne +Betwixt our armies true intelligence. + +WORCESTER. +What I have done my safety urged me to; +And I embrace this fortune patiently, +Since not to be avoided it falls on me. + +KING. +Bear Worcester to the death, and Vernon too. +Other offenders we will pause upon. + +[_Exeunt Worcester and Vernon, guarded._] + +How goes the field? + +PRINCE. +The noble Scot, Lord Douglas, when he saw +The fortune of the day quite turn’d from him, +The noble Percy slain, and all his men +Upon the foot of fear, fled with the rest, +And, falling from a hill, he was so bruised +That the pursuers took him. At my tent +The Douglas is, and I beseech your Grace +I may dispose of him. + +KING. +With all my heart. + +PRINCE. +Then, brother John of Lancaster, to you +This honourable bounty shall belong. +Go to the Douglas and deliver him +Up to his pleasure, ransomless and free. +His valours shown upon our crests today +Hath taught us how to cherish such high deeds, +Even in the bosom of our adversaries. + +LANCASTER. +I thank your Grace for this high courtesy, +Which I shall give away immediately. + +KING. +Then this remains, that we divide our power. +You, son John, and my cousin Westmoreland, +Towards York shall bend you with your dearest speed +To meet Northumberland and the prelate Scroop, +Who, as we hear, are busily in arms. +Myself and you, son Harry, will towards Wales, +To fight with Glendower and the Earl of March. +Rebellion in this land shall lose his sway, +Meeting the check of such another day, +And since this business so fair is done, +Let us not leave till all our own be won. + +[_Exeunt._] + + + + +THE SECOND PART OF KING HENRY THE FOURTH + + + + +Contents + + INDUCTION + + ACT I + Scene I. The same. + Scene II. London. A street. + Scene III. York. The Archbishop’s palace. + + ACT II + Scene I. London. A street. + Scene II. London. Another street. + Scene III. Warkworth. Before the castle. + Scene IV. The Boar’s head Tavern in Eastcheap. + + ACT III + Scene I. Westminster. The palace. + Scene II. Gloucestershire. Before Justice Shallow’s house. + + ACT IV + Scene I. Yorkshire. Gaultree Forest. + Scene II. Another part of the forest. + Scene III. Another part of the forest. + Scene IV. Westminster. The Jerusalem Chamber. + Scene V. Another chamber. + + ACT V + Scene I. Gloucestershire. Shallow’s house. + Scene II. Westminster. The palace. + Scene III. Gloucestershire. Shallow’s orchard. + Scene IV. London. A street. + Scene V. A public place near Westminster Abbey. + + EPILOGUE + + + + +Dramatis Personæ + +RUMOUR, the Presenter. +KING HENRY the Fourth. +HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, afterwards King Henry the Fifth. +THOMAS, DUKE OF CLARENCE. +PRINCE JOHN OF LANCASTER. +PRINCE HUMPHREY OF GLOUCESTER. +EARL OF WARWICK. +EARL OF WESTMORELAND. +EARL OF SURREY. +GOWER. +HARCOURT. +SIR JOHN BLUNT. +Lord CHIEF JUSTICE of the King’s Bench. +A SERVANT of the Chief Justice. +Henry Percy, Earl of NORTHUMBERLAND. +Scroop, ARCHBISHOP of York. +Lord MOWBRAY. +Lord HASTINGS. +LORD BARDOLPH. +SIR JOHN COLEVILLE. +TRAVERS and MORTON, retainers of Northumberland. +SIR JOHN FALSTAFF. +His Page. +BARDOLPH. +PISTOL. +POINS. +PETO. +SHALLOW and SILENCE, country justices. +DAVY, Servant to Shallow. +MOULDY, SHADOW, WART, FEEBLE, and BULLCALF, recruits. +FANG and SNARE, sheriff’s officers. + +LADY NORTHUMBERLAND. +LADY PERCY. +MISTRESS QUICKLY, hostess of a tavern in Eastcheap. +DOLL TEARSHEET. + +Lords and Attendants; Porter, Drawers, Musicians, Beadles, Grooms, etc. + +A Dancer, speaker of the epilogue. + +SCENE: England. + + + + +INDUCTION + + +Warkworth. Before the castle. + +Enter Rumour, painted full of tongues. + +RUMOUR. +Open your ears; for which of you will stop +The vent of hearing when loud Rumour speaks? +I, from the orient to the drooping west, +Making the wind my post-horse, still unfold +The acts commenced on this ball of earth. +Upon my tongues continual slanders ride, +The which in every language I pronounce, +Stuffing the ears of men with false reports. +I speak of peace, while covert enmity +Under the smile of safety wounds the world. +And who but Rumour, who but only I, +Make fearful musters and prepared defence, +Whiles the big year, swoln with some other grief, +Is thought with child by the stern tyrant war, +And no such matter? Rumour is a pipe +Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures, +And of so easy and so plain a stop +That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, +The still-discordant wav’ring multitude, +Can play upon it. But what need I thus +My well-known body to anatomize +Among my household? Why is Rumour here? +I run before King Harry’s victory, +Who in a bloody field by Shrewsbury +Hath beaten down young Hotspur and his troops, +Quenching the flame of bold rebellion +Even with the rebels’ blood. But what mean I +To speak so true at first? My office is +To noise abroad that Harry Monmouth fell +Under the wrath of noble Hotspur’s sword, +And that the King before the Douglas’ rage +Stoop’d his anointed head as low as death. +This have I rumour’d through the peasant towns +Between that royal field of Shrewsbury +And this worm-eaten hold of ragged stone, +Where Hotspur’s father, old Northumberland, +Lies crafty-sick. The posts come tiring on, +And not a man of them brings other news +Than they have learnt of me. From Rumour’s tongues +They bring smooth comforts false, worse than true wrongs. + + [_Exit._] + + + + +ACT I + +SCENE I. The same. + +Enter Lord Bardolph. + +LORD BARDOLPH. +Who keeps the gate here, ho? + +The Porter opens the gate. + +Where is the Earl? + +PORTER. +What shall I say you are? + +LORD BARDOLPH. +Tell thou the Earl +That the Lord Bardolph doth attend him here. + +PORTER. +His lordship is walk’d forth into the orchard. +Please it your honour knock but at the gate, +And he himself will answer. + +Enter Northumberland. + +LORD BARDOLPH. +Here comes the Earl. + + [_Exit Porter._] + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +What news, Lord Bardolph? Every minute now +Should be the father of some stratagem. +The times are wild; contention, like a horse +Full of high feeding, madly hath broke loose +And bears down all before him. + +LORD BARDOLPH. +Noble earl, +I bring you certain news from Shrewsbury. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Good, an God will! + +LORD BARDOLPH. +As good as heart can wish. +The King is almost wounded to the death; +And, in the fortune of my lord your son, +Prince Harry slain outright; and both the Blunts +Kill’d by the hand of Douglas; young Prince John +And Westmoreland and Stafford fled the field; +And Harry Monmouth’s brawn, the hulk Sir John, +Is prisoner to your son. O, such a day, +So fought, so follow’d and so fairly won, +Came not till now to dignify the times +Since Caesar’s fortunes! + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +How is this derived? +Saw you the field? Came you from Shrewsbury? + +LORD BARDOLPH. +I spake with one, my lord, that came from thence, +A gentleman well bred and of good name, +That freely render’d me these news for true. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Here comes my servant Travers, whom I sent +On Tuesday last to listen after news. + +Enter Travers. + +LORD BARDOLPH. +My lord, I over-rode him on the way, +And he is furnish’d with no certainties +More than he haply may retail from me. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Now, Travers, what good tidings comes with you? + +TRAVERS. +My lord, Sir John Umfrevile turn’d me back +With joyful tidings, and, being better horsed, +Out-rode me. After him came spurring hard +A gentleman, almost forspent with speed, +That stopp’d by me to breathe his bloodied horse. +He ask’d the way to Chester, and of him +I did demand what news from Shrewsbury. +He told me that rebellion had bad luck +And that young Harry Percy’s spur was cold. +With that he gave his able horse the head, +And bending forward struck his armed heels +Against the panting sides of his poor jade +Up to the rowel-head, and starting so +He seem’d in running to devour the way, +Staying no longer question. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Ha? Again: +Said he young Harry Percy’s spur was cold? +Of Hotspur, Coldspur? That rebellion +Had met ill luck? + +LORD BARDOLPH. +My lord, I’ll tell you what: +If my young lord your son have not the day, +Upon mine honour, for a silken point +I’ll give my barony, never talk of it. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Why should that gentleman that rode by Travers +Give then such instances of loss? + +LORD BARDOLPH. +Who, he? +He was some hilding fellow that had stolen +The horse he rode on, and, upon my life, +Spoke at a venture. Look, here comes more news. + +Enter Morton. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Yea, this man’s brow, like to a title-leaf, +Foretells the nature of a tragic volume. +So looks the strand whereon the imperious flood +Hath left a witness’d usurpation. +Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? + +MORTON. +I ran from Shrewsbury, my noble lord, +Where hateful death put on his ugliest mask +To fright our party. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +How doth my son and brother? +Thou tremblest, and the whiteness in thy cheek +Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. +Even such a man, so faint, so spiritless, +So dull, so dread in look, so woe-begone, +Drew Priam’s curtain in the dead of night, +And would have told him half his Troy was burnt; +But Priam found the fire ere he his tongue, +And I my Percy’s death ere thou report’st it. +This thou wouldst say: “Your son did thus and thus; +Your brother thus; so fought the noble Douglas” +Stopping my greedy ear with their bold deeds: +But in the end, to stop my ear indeed, +Thou hast a sigh to blow away this praise, +Ending with “Brother, son, and all are dead.” + +MORTON. +Douglas is living, and your brother, yet; +But, for my lord your son— + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Why, he is dead. +See what a ready tongue suspicion hath! +He that but fears the thing he would not know +Hath by instinct knowledge from others’ eyes +That what he fear’d is chanced. Yet speak, Morton; +Tell thou an earl his divination lies, +And I will take it as a sweet disgrace +And make thee rich for doing me such wrong. + +MORTON. +You are too great to be by me gainsaid, +Your spirit is too true, your fears too certain. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +Yet, for all this, say not that Percy’s dead. +I see a strange confession in thine eye. +Thou shakest thy head and hold’st it fear or sin +To speak a truth. If he be slain, say so. +The tongue offends not that reports his death; +And he doth sin that doth belie the dead, +Not he which says the dead is not alive. +Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news +Hath but a losing office, and his tongue +Sounds ever after as a sullen bell, +Remember’d tolling a departing friend. + +LORD BARDOLPH. +I cannot think, my lord, your son is dead. + +MORTON. +I am sorry I should force you to believe +That which I would to God I had not seen; +But these mine eyes saw him in bloody state, +Rend’ring faint quittance, wearied and outbreathed, +To Harry Monmouth, whose swift wrath beat down +The never-daunted Percy to the earth, +From whence with life he never more sprung up. +In few, his death, whose spirit lent a fire +Even to the dullest peasant in his camp, +Being bruited once, took fire and heat away +From the best-temper’d courage in his troops; +For from his metal was his party steel’d, +Which once in him abated, all the rest +Turn’d on themselves, like dull and heavy lead. +And as the thing that’s heavy in itself +Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed, +So did our men, heavy in Hotspur’s loss, +Lend to this weight such lightness with their fear +That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim +Than did our soldiers, aiming at their safety, +Fly from the field. Then was that noble Worcester +Too soon ta’en prisoner; and that furious Scot, +The bloody Douglas, whose well-labouring sword +Had three times slain th’ appearance of the King, +Gan vail his stomach and did grace the shame +Of those that turn’d their backs, and in his flight, +Stumbling in fear, was took. The sum of all +Is that the King hath won, and hath sent out +A speedy power to encounter you, my lord, +Under the conduct of young Lancaster +And Westmoreland. This is the news at full. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +For this I shall have time enough to mourn. +In poison there is physic; and these news, +Having been well, that would have made me sick, +Being sick, have in some measure made me well. +And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken’d joints, +Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life, +Impatient of his fit, breaks like a fire +Out of his keeper’s arms, even so my limbs, +Weaken’d with grief, being now enraged with grief, +Are thrice themselves. Hence, therefore, thou nice crutch! +A scaly gauntlet now with joints of steel +Must glove this hand. And hence, thou sickly coif! +Thou art a guard too wanton for the head +Which princes, flesh’d with conquest, aim to hit. +Now bind my brows with iron, and approach +The ragged’st hour that time and spite dare bring +To frown upon th’ enraged Northumberland! +Let heaven kiss earth! Now let not Nature’s hand +Keep the wild flood confined! Let order die! +And let this world no longer be a stage +To feed contention in a lingering act; +But let one spirit of the first-born Cain +Reign in all bosoms, that, each heart being set +On bloody courses, the rude scene may end, +And darkness be the burier of the dead! + +LORD BARDOLPH. +This strained passion doth you wrong, my lord. + +MORTON. +Sweet earl, divorce not wisdom from your honour. +The lives of all your loving complices +Lean on your health; the which, if you give o’er +To stormy passion, must perforce decay. +You cast th’ event of war, my noble lord, +And summ’d the account of chance, before you said +“Let us make head.” It was your presurmise +That in the dole of blows your son might drop. +You knew he walk’d o’er perils, on an edge, +More likely to fall in than to get o’er. +You were advised his flesh was capable +Of wounds and scars, and that his forward spirit +Would lift him where most trade of danger ranged. +Yet did you say “Go forth;” and none of this, +Though strongly apprehended, could restrain +The stiff-borne action. What hath then befall’n, +Or what hath this bold enterprise brought forth, +More than that being which was like to be? + +LORD BARDOLPH. +We all that are engaged to this loss +Knew that we ventured on such dangerous seas +That if we wrought out life ’twas ten to one; +And yet we ventured, for the gain proposed +Choked the respect of likely peril fear’d; +And since we are o’erset, venture again. +Come, we will put forth, body and goods. + +MORTON. +’Tis more than time. And, my most noble lord, +I hear for certain, and dare speak the truth: +The gentle Archbishop of York is up +With well-appointed powers. He is a man +Who with a double surety binds his followers. +My lord your son had only but the corpse, +But shadows and the shows of men, to fight; +For that same word, “rebellion” did divide +The action of their bodies from their souls, +And they did fight with queasiness, constrain’d, +As men drink potions, that their weapons only +Seem’d on our side; but, for their spirits and souls, +This word, “rebellion,” it had froze them up, +As fish are in a pond. But now the bishop +Turns insurrection to religion. +Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts, +He’s follow’d both with body and with mind, +And doth enlarge his rising with the blood +Of fair King Richard, scraped from Pomfret stones; +Derives from heaven his quarrel and his cause; +Tells them he doth bestride a bleeding land, +Gasping for life under great Bolingbroke; +And more and less do flock to follow him. + +NORTHUMBERLAND. +I knew of this before; but, to speak truth, +This present grief had wiped it from my mind. +Go in with me, and counsel every man +The aptest way for safety and revenge. +Get posts and letters, and make friends with speed. +Never so few, and never yet more need. + + [_Exeunt._] + +SCENE II. London. A street. + +Enter Falstaff, with his Page bearing his sword and buckler. + +FALSTAFF. +Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water? + +PAGE. +He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but, for the +party that owed it, he might have moe diseases than he knew for. diff --git a/files/files.c b/files/files.c new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4dca179 --- /dev/null +++ b/files/files.c @@ -0,0 +1,104 @@ +#include "files.h" +#include +#include +#include + +// Lire un fichier binaire et en faire un tableau de bits (0/1) +bit_array file_to_bits(const char *filename) { + bit_array arr = {0}; + + FILE *f = fopen(filename, "rb"); + if (!f) { + perror("fopen"); + return arr; + } + + // Taille fichier + fseek(f, 0, SEEK_END); + long file_size = ftell(f); + rewind(f); + + if (file_size <= 0) { + fclose(f); + return arr; + } + + // Lire tous les octets + uint8_t *raw = (uint8_t*)malloc(file_size); + if (!raw) { + fclose(f); + return arr; + } + fread(raw, 1, file_size, f); + fclose(f); + + // Convertir en bits (0/1 dans uint8_t) + arr.nb_bits = (size_t)file_size * 8; + arr.bits = (uint8_t*)malloc(arr.nb_bits); + if (!arr.bits) { + free(raw); + arr.nb_bits = 0; + return arr; + } + + for (size_t i = 0; i < (size_t)file_size; i++) { + for (int b = 0; b < 8; b++) { + arr.bits[i * 8 + b] = (raw[i] >> b) & 1u; + } + } + + free(raw); + return arr; +} + +// Transformer un tableau de bits (0/1) en fichier binaire +int bits_to_file(const char *filename, const bit_array *arr) { + if (!arr || !arr->bits) return -1; + + size_t nb_bytes = (arr->nb_bits + 7) / 8; + uint8_t *raw = (uint8_t*)calloc(nb_bytes, 1); + if (!raw) return -1; + + for (size_t i = 0; i < arr->nb_bits; i++) { + if (arr->bits[i]) { + raw[i / 8] |= (1u << (i % 8)); + } + } + + FILE *f = fopen(filename, "wb"); + if (!f) { + perror("fopen"); + free(raw); + return -1; + } + + fwrite(raw, 1, nb_bytes, f); + fclose(f); + free(raw); + return 0; +} + +// Génère un nom du type "output." où est l'extension du fichier d'entrée +char* make_output_filename(const char *input_filename) { + const char *dot = strrchr(input_filename, '.'); + const char *ext = dot ? dot + 1 : "bin"; + + // Construire "output." + size_t len = strlen(ext) + strlen("output.") + 1; + char *out = (char*)malloc(len); + if (!out) return NULL; + + snprintf(out, len, "output.%s", ext); + return out; +} + + +// Libérer la mémoire +void free_bit_array(bit_array *arr) { + if (arr && arr->bits) { + free(arr->bits); + arr->bits = NULL; + arr->nb_bits = 0; + } +} + diff --git a/files/files.h b/files/files.h new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e62168f --- /dev/null +++ b/files/files.h @@ -0,0 +1,21 @@ +#include +#include +#include + +// Conteneur de bits (0/1 stockés dans uint8_t) +typedef struct { + uint8_t *bits; // tableau de 0/1 + size_t nb_bits; // nombre total de bits +} bit_array; + +// Lire un fichier binaire et le transformer en tableau de bits (0/1) +bit_array file_to_bits(const char *filename); + +// Transformer un tableau de bits (0/1) en fichier binaire +int bits_to_file(const char *filename, const bit_array *arr); + +// Génère un nom du type "output." où est l'extension du fichier d'entrée +char* make_output_filename(const char *input_filename); + +// Libérer la mémoire du bit_array +void free_bit_array(bit_array *arr);